ANTIGONE.  Woe-wearied father, yonder city’s wall
That shields her, looks far distant; but this ground
Is surely sacred, thickly planted over
With olive, bay and vine, within whose bowers
Thick-fluttering song-birds make sweet melody. 
Here then repose thee on this unhewn stone. 
Thou hast travelled far to-day for one so old.

OED. Seat me, my child, and be the blind man’s guard.

ANT.  Long time hath well instructed me in that.

OED. Now, canst thou tell me where we have set our feet?

ANT.  Athens I know, but not the nearer ground.

OED. Ay, every man that met us in the way
Named Athens.

ANT.  Shall I go, then, and find out
The name of the spot?

OED. Yes, if ’tis habitable.

ANT.  It is inhabited.  Yet I need not go. 
I see a man even now approaching here.

OED. How?  Makes he towards us?  Is he drawing nigh?

ANT.  He is close beside us.  Whatsoe’er thou findest
Good to be spoken, say it.  The man is here.

Enter an Athenian.

OED. O stranger, learning from this maid, who sees
Both for herself and me, that thou art come
With timely light to clear our troubled thought—­

ATHENIAN.  Ere thou ask more, come forth from where thou sittest! 
Ye trench on soil forbidden human tread.

OED. What soil?  And to what Power thus consecrate?

ATH.  None may go near, nor dwell there.  ’Tis possessed
By the dread sisters, children of Earth and Night.

OED. What holy name will please them, if I pray?

ATH.  ‘All seeing Gentle Powers’ the dwellers here
Would call them.  But each land hath its own rule.

OED. And gently may they look on him who now
Implores them, and will never leave this grove!

ATH.  What saying is this?

OED. The watchword of my doom.

ATH.  Yet dare I not remove thee, till the town
Have heard my purpose and confirm the deed.

OED. By Heaven, I pray thee, stranger, scorn me not,
Poor wanderer that I am, but answer me.

ATH.  Make clear thy drift.  Thou’lt get no scorn from me.

OED. Then, pray thee, tell me how ye name the place
Where now I sit.

ATH.  The region all around
Is sacred.  For ’tis guarded and possessed
By dread Poseidon, and the Titan mind
That brought us fire—­Prometheus.  But that floor
Whereon thy feet are resting, hath been called
The brazen threshold of our land, the stay
Of glorious Athens, and the neighbouring fields
Are fain to honour for their patron-god
Thee, O Colonos, first of Knights, whose name [Pointing to a statue
They bear in brotherhood and own for theirs. 
Such, friend, believe me, is this place, not praised
In story, but of many a heart beloved.