Page:Oedipus, King of Thebes (Murray 1911).djvu/88

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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?

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.

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?