Page:Sophocles (Storr 1912) v1.djvu/319



All is but surmise.

Is he then gone?

Gone as ye most might wish.

Not in battle or sea storm,

But reft from sight,

By hands invisible borne

To viewless fields of night.

Ah me! on us too night has come,

The night of mourning. Whither roam

O’er land or sea in our distress

Eating the bread of bitterness?

I know not. O that Death

Might nip my breath,

And let me share my aged father’s fate.

I cannot live a life thus desolate.

Best of daughters, worthy pair,

What Heaven brings ye needs must bear,

Fret no more ’gainst Heaven’s will;

Fate hath dealt with you not ill.

Love can turn past pain to bliss,

What seemed bitter now is sweet.

Ah me! that happy toil to miss,

The guidance of those dear blind feet. 297