Page:Sophocles (Storr 1912) v1.djvu/177



Heed then; I fain would see thee out of harm;

For by thy looks, marred though they be by fate,

I judge thee noble: tarry where thou art,

While I go seek the burghers—those at hand,

Not in the city. They will soon decide

Whether thou art to rest or go thy way.

[Exit.

Tell me, my daughter, has the stranger gone?

Yes, he has gone; now we are all alone,

And thou may’st speak, dear father, without fear.

Stern-visaged queens, since coming to this land

First in your sanctuary I bent the knee,

Frown not on me or Phoebus, who, when erst

He told me all my miseries to come,

Spake of this respite after many years,

Some haven in a far-off land, a rest

Vouchsafed at last by dread divinities.

“There,” said he, “shalt thou round thy weary life,

A blessing to the land wherein thou dwell’st,

But to the land that cast thee forth, a curse.”

And of my weird he promised signs should come,

Earthquake, or thunderclap, or lightning flash

And now I recognise as yours the sign

That led my wanderings to this your grove;

Else had I never lighted on you first,

A wineless man on you who loathe the grape,

Or set me on your seat of native rock.

O goddesses, fulfil Apollo’s word, 155