Page:Sophocles - Seven Plays, 1900.djvu/239

976–1003]

Where now his life is held at point to fall.

With firm lips clenched refrain thy voice through all.

. Yet tell me, doth he live,

Old sir?

. Wake not the slumberer,

Nor kindle and revive

The terrible recurrent power of pain,

My son!

. My foolish words are done,

But my full heart sinks ’neath the heavy strain.

. O Father, who are these?

What countrymen? Where am I? What far land

Holds me in pain that ceaseth not? Ah me!

Again that pest is rending me. Pain, pain!

. Now thou may’st know

’Twas better to have lurked in silent shade

And not thus widely throw

The slumber from his eyelids and his head.

. I could not brook

All speechless on his misery to look.

. O altar on the Euboean strand,

High-heaped with offerings from my hand,

What meed for lavish gifts bestowed

From thy new sanctuary hath flowed!

Father of Gods! thy cruel power

Hath foiled me with an evil blight.

Ah! would mine eyes had closed in night

Ere madness in a fatal hour

Had burst upon them with a blaze,

No help or soothing once allays!

What hand to heal, what voice to charm,

Can e’er dispel this hideous harm?

Whose skill save thine,

Monarch Divine?

Mine eyes, if such I saw,

Would hail him from afar with trembling awe.