Oedipus, King of Thebes, by Sophocles

Jocasta. From both the twain it rose? Leader. From both the twain. Jocasta. Aye, and what was the word? Leader. Surely there is enough of evil stirred, And Thebes heaves on the swell Of storm.—Oh, leave this lying where it fell. Oedipus. So be it, thou wise counsellor! Make slight My wrong, and blunt my purpose ere it smite. Leader. O King, not once I have answered. Visibly Mad were I, lost to all wise usages, To seek to cast thee from us. 'Twas from thee We saw of old blue sky and summer seas, When Thebes in the storm and rain Reeled, like to die. Oh, if thou canst, again Blue sky, blue sky...! Jocasta. Husband, in God's name, say what hath ensued Of ill, that thou shouldst seek so dire a feud. Oedipus. I will, wife. I have more regard for thee Than these.—Thy brother plots to murder me. Jocasta. Speak on. Make all thy charge. Only be clear. Oedipus. He says that I am Laïus' murderer. Jocasta. Says it himself? Says he hath witnesses? Oedipus. Nay, of himself he ventures nothing. 'Tis This priest, this hellish seer, makes all the tale. Jocasta. The seer?—Then tear thy terrors like a veil And take free breath. A seer? No human thing Born on the earth hath power for conjuring Truth from the dark of God. Come, I will tell An old tale. There came once an oracle To Laïus: I say not from the God Himself, but from the priests and seers who trod His sanctuary: if ever son were bred From him and me, by that son's hand, it said, Laïus must die. And he, the tale yet stays Among us, at the crossing of three ways Was slain by robbers, strangers. And my son— God's mercy!—scarcely the third day was gone When Laïus took, and by another's hand Out on the desert mountain, where the land Is rock, cast him to die. Through both his feet A blade of iron they drove. Thus did we cheat Apollo of his will. My child could slay No father, and the King could cast away The fear that dogged him, by his child to die Murdered.—Behold the fruits of prophecy! Which heed not thou! God needs not that a seer Help him, when he would make his dark things clear. Oedipus. Woman, what turmoil hath thy story wrought Within me! What up-stirring of old thought! Jocasta. What thought? It turns thee like a frightened thing. Oedipus. 'Twas at the crossing of three ways this King Was murdered? So I heard or so I thought. Jocasta. That was the tale. It is not yet forgot. Oedipus. The crossing of three ways! And in what land? Jocasta. Phokis 'tis called. A road on either hand From Delphi comes and Daulia, in a glen. Oedipus. How many years and months have passed since then? Jocasta. 'Twas but a little time before proclaim Was made of thee for king, the tidings came. Oedipus. My God, what hast thou willed to do with me? Jocasta. Oedipus, speak! What is it troubles thee? Oedipus. Ask me not yet. But say, what build, what height Had Laïus? Rode he full of youth and might? Jocasta. Tall, with the white new gleaming on his brow He walked. In shape just such a man as thou. Oedipus. God help me! I much fear that I have wrought A curse on mine own head, and knew it not. Jocasta. How sayst thou? O my King, I look on thee And tremble. Oedipus (to himself). Horror, if the blind can see! Answer but one thing and 'twill all be clear. Jocasta. Speak. I will answer though I shake with fear. Oedipus. Went he with scant array, or a great band Of armèd followers, like a lord of land? Jocasta. Four men were with him, one a herald; one Chariot there was, where Laïus rode alone. Oedipus. Aye me! Tis clear now. Woman, who could bring To Thebes the story of that manslaying? Jocasta. A house-thrall, the one man they failed to slay. Oedipus. The one man...? Is he in the house to-day? Jocasta. Indeed no. When he came that day, and found Thee on the throne where once sat Laïus crowned, He took my hand and prayed me earnestly To send him to the mountain heights, to be A herdsman, far from any sight or call Of Thebes. And there I sent him. 'Twas a thrall Good-hearted, worthy a far greater boon. Oedipus. Canst find him? I would see this herd, and soon. Jocasta. 'Tis easy. But what wouldst thou with the herd? Oedipus. I fear mine own voice, lest it spoke a word Too much; whereof this man must tell me true. Jocasta. The man shall come.—My lord, methinks I too Should know what fear doth work thee this despite. Oedipus. Thou shalt. When I am tossed to such an height Of dark foreboding, woman, when my mind Faceth such straits as these, where should I find A mightier love than thine? My father—thus I tell thee the whole tale—was Polybus, In Corinth King; my mother Meropê Of Dorian line. And I was held to be The proudest in Corinthia, till one day A thing befell: strange was it, but no way Meet for such wonder and such rage as mine. A feast it was, and some one flushed with wine Cried out at me that I was no true son Of Polybus. Oh, I was wroth! That one Day I kept silence, but the morrow morn I sought my parents, told that tale of scorn And claimed the truth; and they rose in their pride And smote the mocker.... Aye, they satisfied All my desire; yet still the cavil gnawed My heart, and still the story crept abroad. At last I rose—my father knew not, nor My mother—and went forth to Pytho's floor To ask. And God in that for which I came Rejected me, but round me, like a flame, His voice flashed other answers, things of woe, Terror, and desolation. I must know My mother's body and beget thereon A race no mortal eye durst look upon, And spill in murder mine own father's blood. I heard, and, hearing, straight from where I stood, No landmark but the stars to light my way, Fled, fled from the dark south where Corinth lay, To lands far off, where never I might see My doom of scorn fulfilled. On bitterly I strode, and reached the region where, so saith Thy tale, that King of Thebes was struck to death.... Wife, I will tell thee true. As one in daze I walked, till, at the crossing of three ways, A herald, like thy tale, and o'er his head A man behind strong horses charioted Met me. And both would turn me from the path, He and a thrall in front. And I in wrath Smote him that pushed me—'twas a groom who led The horses. Not a word the master said, But watched, and as I passed him on the road Down on my head his iron-branchèd goad Stabbed. But, by heaven, he rued it! In a flash I swung my staff and saw the old man crash Back from his car in blood.... Then all of them I slew. Oh, if that man's unspoken name Had aught of Laïus in him, in God's eye What man doth move more miserable than I, More dogged by the hate of heaven! No man, kin Nor stranger, any more may take me in; No man may greet me with a word, but all Cast me from out their houses. And withal 'Twas mine own self that laid upon my life These curses.—And I hold the dead man's wife In these polluting arms that spilt his soul.... Am I a thing born evil? Am I foul In every vein? Thebes now doth banish me, And never in this exile must I see Mine ancient folk of Corinth, never tread The land that bore me; else my mother's bed Shall be defiled, and Polybus, my good Father, who loved me well, be rolled in blood. If one should dream that such a world began In some slow devil's heart, that hated man, Who should deny him?—God, as thou art clean, Suffer not this, oh, suffer not this sin To be, that e'er I look on such a day! Out of all vision of mankind away To darkness let me fall ere such a fate Touch me, so unclean and so desolate! Leader. I tremble too, O King; but till thou hear From him who saw, oh, let hope conquer fear. Oedipus. One shred of hope I still have, and therefore Will wait the herdsman's coming. 'Tis no more. Jocasta. He shall come. But what further dost thou seek? Oedipus. This. If we mark him close and find him speak As thou hast, then I am lifted from my dread. Jocasta. What mean'st thou? Was there something that I said...? Oedipus. Thou said'st he spoke of robbers, a great band, That slaughtered Laïus' men. If still he stand To the same tale, the guilt comes not my way. One cannot be a band. But if he say One lonely loin-girt man, then visibly This is God's finger pointing toward me. Jocasta. Be sure of this. He told the story so When first he came. All they that heard him know, Not only I. He cannot change again Now. And if change he should, O Lord of men, No change of his can make the prophecy Of Laïus' death fall true. He was to die Slain by my son. So Loxias spake.... My son! He slew no man, that poor deserted one That died.... And I will no more turn mine eyes This way nor that for all their prophecies. Oedipus. Woman, thou counsellest well. Yet let it not Escape thee. Send and have the herdsman brought. Jocasta. That will I.—Come. Thou knowest I ne'er would do Nor think of aught, save thou wouldst have it so. [Jocasta and Oedipus go together into the Palace. Chorus. [They pray to be free from such great sins as they have just heard spoken of. [Strophe. Toward God's great mysteries, oh, let me move Unstainèd till I die In speech or doing; for the Laws thereof Are holy, walkers upon ways above, Born in the far blue sky; Their father is Olympus uncreate; No man hath made nor told Their being; neither shall Oblivion set Sleep on their eyes, for in them lives a great Spirit and grows not old. [Antistrophe. [They wonder if these sins be all due to pride and if Creon has guilty ambitions; 'Tis Pride that breeds the tyrant; drunken deep With perilous things is she, Which bring not peace: up, reeling, steep on steep She climbs, till lo, the rock-edge, and the leap To that which needs must be, The land where the strong foot is no more strong! Yet is there surely Pride That saves a city; God preserve it long! I judge not. Only through all maze of wrong Be God, not man, my guide. [Strophe. [Or if Tiresias can really be a lying prophet with no fear of God; they feel that all faith in oracles and the things of God is shaken. Is there a priest who moves amid the altars Ruthless in deed and word, Fears not the presence of his god, nor falters Lest Right at last be heard? If such there be, oh, let some doom be given Meet for his ill-starred pride, Who will not gain his gain where Justice is, Who will not hold his lips from blasphemies, Who hurls rash hands amid the things of heaven From man's touch sanctified. In a world where such things be, What spirit hath shield or lance To ward him secretly From the arrow that slays askance? If honour to such things be, Why should I dance my dance? [Antistrophe. I go no more with prayers and adorations To Earth's deep Heart of Stone, Nor yet the Abantes' floor, nor where the nations Kneel at Olympia's throne, Till all this dark be lightened, for the finger Of man to touch and know. O Thou that rulest—if men rightly call Thy name on earth—O Zeus, thou Lord of all And Strength undying, let not these things linger Unknown, tossed to and fro. For faint is the oracle, And they thrust it aside, away; And no more visible Apollo to save or slay; And the things of God, they fail As mist on the wind away. [Jocasta comes out from the Palace followed by handmaids bearing incense and flowers. Jocasta. Lords of the land, the ways my thought hath trod Lead me in worship to these shrines of God With flowers and incense flame. So dire a storm Doth shake the King, sin, dread and every form Of grief the world knows. 'Tis the wise man's way To judge the morrow by the yester day; Which he doth never, but gives eye and ear To all who speak, will they but speak of fear. And seeing no word of mine hath power to heal His torment, therefore forth to thee I steal, O Slayer of the Wolf, O Lord of Light, Apollo: thou art near us, and of right Dost hold us thine: to thee in prayer I fall. [She kneels at the altar of Apollo Lukeios. Oh, show us still some path that is not all Unclean; for now our captain's eyes are dim With dread, and the whole ship must follow him. [While she prays a Stranger has entered and begins to accost the Chorus. Stranger. Good masters, is there one of you could bring My steps to the house of Oedipus, your King? Or, better, to himself if that may be? Leader. This is the house and he within; and she Thou seest, the mother of his royal seed. [Jocasta rises, anxious, from her prayer. Stranger. Being wife to such a man, happy indeed And ringed with happy faces may she live! Jocasta. To one so fair of speech may the Gods give Like blessing, courteous stranger; 'tis thy due. But say what leads thee hither. Can we do Thy wish in aught, or hast thou news to bring? Stranger. Good news, O Queen, for thee and for the King. Jocasta. What is it? And from what prince comest thou? Stranger. I come from Corinth.—And my tale, I trow, Will give thee joy, yet haply also pain. Jocasta. What news can have that twofold power? Be plain. Stranger. 'Tis spoke in Corinth that the gathering Of folk will make thy lord our chosen King. Jocasta. How? Is old Polybus in power no more? Stranger. Death has a greater power. His reign is o'er. Jocasta. What say'st thou? Dead?... Oedipus' father dead? Stranger. If I speak false, let me die in his stead. Jocasta. Ho, maiden! To our master! Hie thee fast And tell this tale. [The maiden goes. Where stand ye at the last Ye oracles of God? For many a year Oedipus fled before that man, in fear To slay him. And behold we find him thus Slain by a chance death, not by Oedipus. [Oedipus comes out from the Palace. Oedipus. O wife, O face I love to look upon, Why call'st thou me from where I sat alone? Jocasta. Give ear, and ponder from what this man tells How end these proud priests and their oracles. Oedipus. Whence comes he? And what word hath he for us? Jocasta. From Corinth; bearing news that Polybus Thy father is no more. He has found his death. Oedipus. How?—Stranger, speak thyself. This that she saith ... Stranger. Is sure. If that is the first news ye crave, I tell thee, Polybus lieth in his grave. Oedipus. Not murdered?... How? Some passing of disease? Stranger. A slight thing turns an old life to its peace. Oedipus. Poor father!... 'Tis by sickness he is dead? Stranger. The growing years lay heavy on his head. Oedipus. O wife, why then should man fear any more The voice of Pytho's dome, or cower before These birds that shriek above us? They foretold Me for my father's murderer; and behold, He lies in Corinth dead, and here am I And never touched the sword.... Or did he die In grief for me who left him? In that way I may have wrought his death.... But come what may, He sleepeth in his grave and with him all This deadly seercraft, of no worth at all. Jocasta. Dear Lord, long since did I not show thee clear...? Oedipus. Indeed, yes. I was warped by mine own fear. Jocasta. Now thou wilt cast it from thee, and forget. Oedipus. Forget my mother?... It is not over yet. Jocasta. What should man do with fear, who hath but Chance Above him, and no sight nor governance Of things to be? To live as life may run, No fear, no fret, were wisest 'neath the sun. And thou, fear not thy mother. Prophets deem A deed wrought that is wrought but in a dream. And he to whom these things are nothing, best Will bear his burden. Oedipus. All thou counsellest Were good, save that my mother liveth still. And, though thy words be wise, for good or ill Her I still fear. Jocasta. Think of thy father's tomb! Like light across our darkness it hath come. Oedipus. Great light; but while she lives I fly from her. Stranger. What woman, Prince, doth fill thee so with fear? Oedipus. Meropê, friend, who dwelt with Polybus. Stranger. What in Queen Meropê should fright thee thus? Oedipus. A voice of God, stranger, of dire import. Stranger. Meet for mine ears? Or of some secret sort? Oedipus. Nay, thou must hear, and Corinth. Long ago Apollo spake a doom, that I should know My mother's flesh, and with mine own hand spill My father's blood.—'Tis that, and not my will, Hath kept me always far from Corinth. So; Life hath dealt kindly with me, yet men know On earth no comfort like a mother's face. Stranger. 'Tis that, hath kept thee exiled in this place? Oedipus. That, and the fear too of my father's blood. Stranger. Then, surely, Lord ... I came but for thy good ... 'Twere well if from that fear I set thee free. Oedipus. Ah, couldst thou! There were rich reward for thee. Stranger. To say truth, I had hoped to lead thee home Now, and myself to get some good therefrom. Oedipus. Nay; where my parents are I will not go. Stranger. My son, 'tis very clear thou dost not know What road thou goest. Oedipus. How? In God's name, say! How clear? Stranger. 'Tis this, keeps thee so long away From Corinth? Oedipus. 'Tis the fear lest that word break One day upon me true. Stranger. Fear lest thou take Defilement from the two that gave thee birth? Oedipus. 'Tis that, old man, 'tis that doth fill the earth With terror. Stranger. Then thy terror all hath been For nothing. Oedipus. How? Were not your King and Queen My parents? Stranger. Polybus was naught to thee In blood. Oedipus. How? He, my father! Stranger. That was he As much as I, but no more. Oedipus. Thou art naught; 'Twas he begot me. Stranger. 'Twas not I begot Oedipus, neither was it he. Oedipus. What wild Fancy, then, made him name me for his child? Stranger. Thou wast his child—by gift. Long years ago Mine own hand brought thee to him. Oedipus. Coming so, From a strange hand, he gave me that great love? Stranger. He had no child, and the desire thereof Held him. Oedipus. And thou didst find somewhere—or buy— A child for him? Stranger. I found it in a high Glen of Kithairon. [Movement of Jocasta, who stands riveted with dread, unnoticed by the others. Oedipus. Yonder? To what end Wast travelling in these parts? Stranger. I came to tend The flocks here on the mountain. Oedipus. Thou wast one That wandered, tending sheep for hire? Stranger. My son, That day I was the saviour of a King. Oedipus. How saviour? Was I in some suffering Or peril? Stranger. Thine own feet a tale could speak. Oedipus. Ah me! What ancient pain stirs half awake Within me! Stranger. 'Twas a spike through both thy feet. I set thee free. Oedipus. A strange scorn that, to greet A babe new on the earth! Stranger. From that they fain Must call thee Oedipus, "Who-walks-in-pain." Oedipus. Who called me so—father or mother? Oh, In God's name, speak! Stranger. I know not. He should know Who brought thee. Oedipus. So: I was not found by thee. Thou hadst me from another? Stranger. Aye; to me One of the shepherds gave the babe, to bear Far off. Oedipus. What shepherd? Know'st thou not? Declare All that thou knowest. Stranger. By my memory, then, I think they called him one of Laïus' men. Oedipus. That Laïus who was king in Thebes of old? Stranger. The same. My man did herding in his fold. Oedipus. Is he yet living? Can I see his face? Stranger. [Turning to the Chorus. Ye will know that, being natives to the place. Oedipus. How?—Is there one of you within my pale Standing, that knows the shepherd of his tale? Ye have seen him on the hills? Or in this town? Speak! For the hour is come that all be known. Leader. I think 'twill be the Peasant Man, the same, Thou hast sought long time to see.—His place and name Our mistress, if she will, can tell most clear. [Jocasta remains as if she heard nothing. Oedipus. Thou hear'st him, wife. The herd whose presence here We craved for, is it he this man would say? Jocasta. He saith ... What of it? Ask not; only pray Not to remember.... Tales are vainly told. Oedipus. 'Tis mine own birth. How can I, when I hold Such clues as these, refrain from knowing all? Jocasta. For God's love, no! Not if thou car'st at all For thine own life.... My anguish is enough. Oedipus (bitterly). Fear not!... Though I be thrice of slavish stuff From my third grand-dam down, it shames not thee. Jocasta. Ask no more. I beseech thee.... Promise me! Oedipus. To leave the Truth half-found? 'Tis not my mood. Jocasta. I understand; and tell thee what is good. Oedipus. Thy good doth weary me. Jocasta. O child of woe, I pray God, I pray God, thou never know! Oedipus (turning from her). Go, fetch the herdsman straight!—This Queen of mine May walk alone to boast her royal line. Jocasta. [She twice draws in her breath through her teeth, as if in some sharp pain. Unhappy one, goodbye! Goodbye before I go: this once, and never never more! [She comes towards him as though to take a last farewell, then stops suddenly, turns, and rushes into the Palace. Leader. King, what was that? She passed like one who flies In very anguish. Dread is o'er mine eyes Lest from this silence break some storm of wrong. Oedipus. Break what break will! My mind abideth strong To know the roots, how low soe'er they be, Which grew to Oedipus. This woman, she Is proud, methinks, and fears my birth and name Will mar her nobleness. But I, no shame Can ever touch me. I am Fortune's child, Not man's; her mother face hath ever smiled Above me, and my brethren of the sky, The changing Moons, have changed me low and high. There is my lineage true, which none shall wrest From me; who then am I to fear this quest? Chorus. [They sing Oedipus as the foundling of their own Theban mountain, Kithairon, and doubtless of divine birth. [Strophe. If I, O Kithairon, some vision can borrow From seercraft, if still there is wit in the old, Long, long, through the deep-orbèd Moon of the morrow— So hear me, Olympus!—thy tale shall be told. O mountain of Thebes, a new Theban shall praise thee, One born of thy bosom, one nursed at thy springs; And the old men shall dance to thy glory, and raise thee To worship, O bearer of joy to my kings. And thou, we pray, Look down in peace, O Apollo; I-ê, I-ê! [Antistrophe. What Oread mother, unaging, unweeping, Did bear thee, O Babe, to the Crag-walker Pan; Or perchance to Apollo? He loveth the leaping Of herds on the rock-ways unhaunted of man. Or was it the lord of Cyllênê, who found thee, Or glad Dionysus, whose home is the height, Who knew thee his own on the mountain, as round thee The White Brides of Helicon laughed for delight? 'Tis there, 'tis there, The joy most liveth of all his dance and prayer.

Oedipus. If I may judge, ye Elders, who have ne'er Seen him, methinks I see the shepherd there Whom we have sought so long. His weight of years Fits well with our Corinthian messenger's; And, more, I know the men who guide his way, Bondsmen of mine own house. Thou, friend, wilt say Most surely, who hast known the man of old. Leader. I know him well. A shepherd of the fold Of Laïus, one he trusted more than all. [The Shepherd comes in, led by two thralls. He is an old man and seems terrified. Oedipus. Thou first, our guest from Corinth: say withal Is this the man? Stranger. This is the man, O King. Oedipus. [Addressing the Shepherd. Old man! Look up, and answer everything I ask thee.—Thou wast Laïus' man of old? Shepherd. Born in his house I was, not bought with gold. Oedipus. What kind of work, what way of life, was thine? Shepherd. Most of my days I tended sheep or kine. Oedipus. What was thy camping ground at midsummer? Shepherd. Sometimes Kithairon, sometimes mountains near. Oedipus. Saw'st ever there this man thou seëst now? Shepherd. There, Lord? What doing?—What man meanest thou? Oedipus. [Pointing to the Stranger. Look! Hath he ever crossed thy path before? Shepherd. I call him not to mind, I must think more. Stranger. Small wonder that, O King! But I will throw Light on his memories.—Right well I know He knows the time when, all Kithairon through, I with one wandering herd and he with two, Three times we neighboured one another, clear From spring to autumn stars, a good half-year. At winter's fall we parted; he drove down To his master's fold, and I back to mine own.... Dost call it back, friend? Was it as I say? Shepherd. It was. It was.... 'Tis all so far away. Stranger. Say then: thou gavest me once, there in the wild, A babe to rear far off as mine own child? Shepherd. [His terror returning. What does this mean? To what end askest thou? Stranger. [Pointing to Oedipus. That babe has grown, friend. 'Tis our master now. Shepherd. [He slowly understands, then stands for a moment horror-struck. No, in the name of death!... Fool, hold thy peace. [He lifts his staff at the Stranger. Oedipus. Ha, greybeard! Wouldst thou strike him?—'Tis not his Offences, 'tis thine own we need to mend. Shepherd. Most gentle master, how do I offend? Oedipus. Whence came that babe whereof he questioneth? Shepherd. He doth not know ... 'tis folly ... what he saith. Oedipus. Thou wilt not speak for love; but pain maybe ... Shepherd. I am very old. Ye would not torture me. Oedipus. Back with his arms, ye bondmen! Hold him so. [The thralls drag back the Shepherd's arms, ready for torture. Shepherd. Woe's me! What have I done?... What wouldst thou know? Oedipus. Didst give this man the child, as he doth say? Shepherd. I did.... Would God that I had died this day! Oedipus. 'Fore heaven, thou shalt yet, if thou speak not true. Shepherd. 'Tis more than death and darker, if I do. Oedipus. This dog, it seems, will keep us waiting. Shepherd. Nay, I said at first I gave it. Oedipus. In what way Came it to thee? Was it thine own child, or Another's? Shepherd. Nay, it never crossed my door: Another's. Oedipus. Whose? What man, what house, of these About thee? Shepherd. In the name of God who sees, Ask me no more! Oedipus. If once I ask again, Thou diest. Shepherd. From the folk of Laïus, then, It came. Oedipus. A slave, or born of Laïus' blood? Shepherd. There comes the word I dread to speak, O God! Oedipus. And I to hear: yet heard it needs must be. Shepherd. Know then, they said 'twas Laïus' child. But she Within, thy wife, best knows its fathering. Oedipus. 'Twas she that gave it? Shepherd. It was she, O King. Oedipus. And bade you ... what? Shepherd. Destroy it. Oedipus. Her own child?... Cruel! Shepherd. Dark words of God had made her wild. Oedipus. What words? Shepherd. The babe must slay his father; so 'Twas written. Oedipus. Why didst thou, then, let him go With this old man? Shepherd. O King, I pitied him. I thought the man would save him to some dim And distant land, beyond all fear.... And he, To worse than death, did save him!... Verily, If thou art he whom this man telleth of, To sore affliction thou art born. Oedipus. Enough! All, all, shall be fulfilled.... Oh, on these eyes Shed light no more, ye everlasting skies That know my sin! I have sinned in birth and breath. I have sinned with Woman. I have sinned with Death. [He rushes into the Palace. The Shepherd is led away by the thralls. Chorus. [Strophe. Nothingness, nothingness, Ye Children of Man, and less I count you, waking or dreaming! And none among mortals, none, Seeking to live, hath won More than to seem, and to cease Again from his seeming. While ever before mine eyes One fate, one ensample, lies— Thine, thine, O Oedipus, sore Of God oppressèd— What thing that is human more Dare I call blessèd? [Antistrophe. Straight his archery flew To the heart of living; he knew Joy and the fulness of power, O Zeus, when the riddling breath Was stayed and the Maid of Death Slain, and we saw him through The death-cloud, a tower! For that he was called my king; Yea, every precious thing Wherewith men are honoured, down We cast before him, And great Thebes brought her crown And kneeled to adore him. [Strophe. But now, what man's story is such bitterness to speak? What life hath Delusion so visited, and Pain, And swiftness of Disaster? O great King, our master, How oped the one haven to the slayer and the slain? And the furrows of thy father, did they turn not nor shriek, Did they bear so long silent thy casting of the grain? [Antistrophe. 'Tis Time, Time, desireless, hath shown thee what thou art; The long monstrous mating, it is judged and all its race. O child of him that sleepeth, Thy land weepeth, weepeth, Unfathered.... Would God, I had never seen thy face! From thee in great peril fell peace upon my heart, In thee mine eye clouded and the dark is come apace. [A Messenger rushes out from the Palace. Messenger. O ye above this land in honour old Exalted, what a tale shall ye be told, What sights shall see, and tears of horror shed, If still your hearts be true to them that led Your sires! There runs no river, well I ween, Not Phasis nor great Ister, shall wash clean This house of all within that hideth—nay, Nor all that creepeth forth to front the day, Of purposed horror. And in misery That woundeth most which men have willed to be. Leader. No lack there was in what we knew before Of food for heaviness. What bring'st thou more? Messenger. One thing I bring thee first.... 'Tis quickly said. Jocasta, our anointed queen, is dead. Leader. Unhappy woman! How came death to her? Messenger. By her own hand.... Oh, of what passed in there Ye have been spared the worst. Ye cannot see. Howbeit, with that which still is left in me Of mind and memory, ye shall hear her fate. Like one entranced with passion, through the gate She passed, the white hands flashing o'er her head, Like blades that tear, and fled, unswerving fled, Toward her old bridal room, and disappeared And the doors crashed behind her. But we heard Her voice within, crying to him of old, Her Laïus, long dead; and things untold Of the old kiss unforgotten, that should bring The lover's death and leave the loved a thing Of horror, yea, a field beneath the plough For sire and son: then wailing bitter-low Across that bed of births unreconciled, Husband from husband born and child from child. And, after that, I know not how her death Found her. For sudden, with a roar of wrath, Burst Oedipus upon us. Then, I ween, We marked no more what passion held the Queen, But him, as in the fury of his stride, "A sword! A sword! And show me here," he cried, "That wife, no wife, that field of bloodstained earth Where husband, father, sin on sin, had birth, Polluted generations!" While he thus Raged on, some god—for sure 'twas none of us— Showed where she was; and with a shout away, As though some hand had pointed to the prey, He dashed him on the chamber door. The straight Door-bar of oak, it bent beneath his weight, Shook from its sockets free, and in he burst To the dark chamber. There we saw her first Hanged, swinging from a noose, like a dead bird. He fell back when he saw her. Then we heard A miserable groan, and straight he found And loosed the strangling knot, and on the ground Laid her.—Ah, then the sight of horror came! The pin of gold, broad-beaten like a flame, He tore from off her breast, and, left and right, Down on the shuddering orbits of his sight Dashed it: "Out! Out! Ye never more shall see Me nor the anguish nor the sins of me. Ye looked on lives whose like earth never bore, Ye knew not those my spirit thirsted for: Therefore be dark for ever!" Like a song His voice rose, and again, again, the strong And stabbing hand fell, and the massacred And bleeding eyeballs streamed upon his beard, Wild rain, and gouts of hail amid the rain. Behold affliction, yea, afflictions twain From man and woman broken, now made one In downfall. All the riches yester sun Saw in this house were rich in verity. What call ye now our riches? Agony, Delusion, Death, Shame, all that eye or ear Hath ever dreamed of misery, is here. Leader. And now how fares he? Doth the storm abate? Messenger.