Page:Sophocles - Seven Plays, 1900.djvu/281

1053–1092]

Of victory, this once I yield to thee,

And willingly. Unhand him there. Let go!

Leave him to stay. What further use of thee,

When we have ta’en these arms? Have we not Teucer,

Skilled in this mystery? Yea, I may boast

Myself thine equal both in strength and aim

To wield them. Fare thee well, then! Thou art free

To roam thy barren isle. We need thee not.

Let us be going! And perchance thy gift

May bring thy destined glory to my brow.

. What shall I do? Alas, shalt thou be seen

Graced with mine arms amongst Achaean men?

. No more! I am going.

. O Achilles’ child!

Wilt thou, too, vanish? Must I lose thy voice?

. Come on, and look not, noble though thou be,

Lest thou undo our fortune.

. Mariners,

Must ye, too, leave me thus disconsolate?

Will ye not pity me?

. Our captain ’s here.

Whate’er he saith to thee, that we too speak.

. My chief will call me weakling, soft of heart;

But go not yet, since our friend bids you stay,

Till we have prayed, and all be ready on board.

Meanwhile, perchance, he may conceive some thought

That favours our design. We two will start;

And ye, be swift to speed forth at our call.

. O cavern of the hollow rock,

Frosty and stifling in the seasons’ change!

How I seem fated never more to range

From thy sad covert, that hath felt the shock

Of pain on pain, steeped with my wretchedness.

Now thou wilt be my comforter in death!

Grief-haunted harbour, choked with my distress!

Tell me, what hope is mine of daily food,

Who will be careful for my good?