Page:Oedipus, King of Thebes (Murray 1911).djvu/62

Rh 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,