Page:Tragedies of Euripides (Way 1898) v3.djvu/105

Rh No strife was thy strife: it was murder by murder brought

To accomplishment, ruin to Oedipus' house, and fraught

With bloodshed of horror, with bloodshed of misery.

On what bard shall I call?

What harper of dirges shall I bid come

To wail the lament,—O home, mine home!—

While the tears, the tears fall,

As I bear three bodies of kindred slain,

Mother and sons, while the Fiend gloats over our woe

Who brought in ruin the house of Oedipus low,

In the day when the Songstress Sphinx's strain,

So hard to read, by his wisdom was read,

And the fierce shape down unto earth was sped?

Woe for me, father mine!

Who hath borne griefs like unto thine?

What Hellene, or alien, or who that sprang

Of the ancient blood of a high-born line,

Whose race in a day is run, hath endured in the sight of the sun

Such bitter pang?

Woe's me for my dirge wild-ringing!

What song-bird that rocketh on high,

Mid the boughs of the oak-tree swinging,

Or the pine-tree, will echo my cry,

The moans of the motherless maiden,

Who wail for the life without friend

I must know, who shall weep sorrow-laden

Tears without end?

Over whom shall I make lamentation?

Unto whom with rendings of hair