Page:Sophocles (Storr 1919) v2.djvu/251

 To them and me, to me too who so oft

Laid on thy shrine with humble hands my best.

And now with vows (I cannot offer more),

Apollo, Lord Lycean, I beseech,

Implore, adjure thee, prosper this our work,

Defend the right and show to godless men

How the gods vindicate impiety.

Breathing out blood and vengeance, lo!

Stalks Ares, sure though slow.

E’en now the hounds are on the trail;

Within, the sinners at their coming quail.

A little while and death shall realise

The vision that now floats before mine eyes.

For now within the house is led

By stealth the champion of the dead;

He treads once more the ancestral hall of kings,

And death new-whetted in his hands he brings.

Great Maia’s son conducts him on his way

And shrouds his guile and brooks not more delay.

O dearest women, even as I speak

The men are at their work; but not a word.

What work? what are they at?

E’en now she decks

The urn for burial and the pair stand by.

Why spedst thou forth? 239