Page:Oedipus, King of Thebes (Murray 1911).djvu/71

vv. 962–978

Poor father! ’Tis by sickness he is dead?

The growing years lay heavy on his head.

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.

Dear Lord, long since did I not show thee clear

Indeed, yes. I was warped by mine own fear.

Now thou wilt cast it from thee, and forget.

Forget my mother? It is not over yet.

What should man do with fear, who hath but Chance

Above him, and no sight nor governance