Page:Sophocles (Storr 1912) v1.djvu/179

 Grant me some consummation of my life,

If haply I appear not all too vile,

A thrall to sorrow worse than any slave.

Hear, gentle daughters of primeval Night,

Hear, namesake of great Pallas; Athens, first

Of cities, pity this dishonoured shade,

The ghost of him who once was Oedipus.

Hush! for I see some grey-beards on their way,

Their errand to spy out our resting-place.

I will be mute, and thou shalt guide my steps

Into the covert from the public road,

Till I have learned their drift. A prudent man

Will ever shape his course by what he learns.

Enter.

Ha! Where is he? Look around!

Every nook and corner scan!

He the all-presumptuous man,

Whither vanished? search the ground!

A wayfarer, I ween,

A wayfarer, no countryman of ours,

That old man must have been;

Never had native dared to tempt the Powers,

Or enter their demesne,

The Maids in awe of whom each mortal cowers,

Whose name no voice betrays nor cry,

And as we pass them with averted eye, 157