Page:Tragedies of Sophocles (Jebb 1917).djvu/367

855—888] Now, my son, now the wind is fair for thee:—sightless and helpless, the man lies stretched in darkness,—sleep in the heat is sound,—with no command of hand or foot, but reft of all his powers, like unto one who rests with Hades.

Take heed, look if thy counsels be seasonable: so far as my thoughts can seize the truth, my son, the best strategy is that which gives no alarm.

. Hush, I say, and let not your wits forsake you:—yon man opens his eyes, and lifts his head.

. Ah, sunlight following on sleep,—ah, ye friendly watchers, undreamed of by my hopes! Never, my son, could I have dared to look for this,—that thou shouldest have patience to wait so tenderly upon my sufferings, staying beside me, and helping to relieve me. The Atreidae, certainly, those valiant chieftains, had no heart to bear this burden so lightly. But thy nature, my son, is noble, and of noble breed; and so thou hast made little of all this, though loud cries and noisome odours vexed thy senses.

And now, since the plague seems to allow me a space of forgetfulness and peace at last, raise me thyself, my son, set me on my feet, so that, when the faintness shall at length release me, we may set forth to the ship, and delay not to sail.

. Right glad am I to see thee, beyond my hope, living and breathing, free from pain; for, judged by the sufferings that afflict thee, thy symptoms seemed to speak of death.—But now lift thyself; or, if thou prefer it, these men will carry thee; the trouble would not be grudged, since thou and I are of one mind.