Antigone:
 O lofty gods, hear
 the heartfelt plea of your daughter;
 let a cool breath of solace
 blow into my father's great soul.

 To assuage your anger, be satisfied with
 this young life - take it!
 and let your vengeance destroy
 this deeply troubled sufferer.

 I fold my hands humbly -
 the firmament remains smooth and pure,
 and it is still; only a tepid breeze
 still rustles through the ancient grove.

 Why does my pale father sigh and groan?
 I have an uneasy feeling that a frightful vision
 is chasing away his slumber;
 he springs up from the grass and speaks:
 
Oedipus:
 I am dreaming a heavy dream.
 Did not my right hand wield this scepter?
 Yet powerful forces have dissolved you,
 old man, into worthless foam.

 Did I not drink in fairer days
 in the halls of my ancestors,
 amid songs of heroes and the flourish of horns?
 O Helios, your golden light -

 will I now never be able to see it again?
 Devastation calls from every side:
 "For death must you prepare yourself;
 your earthly work is done."