Page:Oedipus, King of Thebes (Murray 1911).djvu/34

Rh The things of heaven and them that walk the earth;

Our city thou canst see, for all thy dearth

Of outward eyes, what clouds are over her.

In which, O gracious Lord, no minister

Of help, no champion, can we find at all

Save thee. For Phoebus—thou hast heard withal

His message—to our envoy hath decreed

One only way of help in this great need:

To find and smite with death or banishing,

Him who smote Laïus, our ancient King.

Oh, grudge us nothing! Question every cry

Of birds, and all roads else of prophecy

Thou knowest. Save our city: save thine own

Greatness: save me; save all that yet doth groan

Under the dead man’s wrong! Lo, in thy hand

We lay us. And, methinks, no work so grand

Hath man yet compassed, as, with all he can

Of chance or power, to help his fellow man.

Ah me!

A fearful thing is knowledge, when to know

Helpeth no end. I knew this long ago,

But crushed it dead. Else had I never come.

What means this? Comest thou so deep in gloom?

Let me go back! Thy work shall weigh on thee

The less, if thou consent, and mine on me.