Page:Tragedies of Sophocles (Plumptre 1878).djvu/128

30 More than to thee tell all the passing chance?

I had a father, Polybos of Corinth,

And Merope of Doris was my mother,

And I was held in honour by the rest

Who dwelt there, till this accident befel,

Worthy of wonder, of the heat unworthy

It roused within me. Thus it chanced: A man

At supper, in his cups, with wine o'ertaken,

Reviles me as a spurious changeling boy;

And I, sore vexèd, hardly for that day

Restrained myself. And when the morrow came

I went and charged my father and my mother

With what I thus had heard. They heaped reproach

On him who stirred the matter, and I soothed

My soul with what they told me; yet it teased,

Still vexing more and more; and so I went,

Unknown to them, to Pytho, and the God

Sent me forth shamed, unanswered in my quest;

And other things He spake, dread, dire, and dark,

That I should join in wedlock with my mother,

Beget a brood that men should loathe to look at,

Be murderer of the father that begot me.

And, hearing this, I straight from Corinth fled,

The stars thenceforth the land-marks of my way,

And fled where never more mine eyes might see

The shame of those dire oracles fulfilled;

And as I went I reached the spot where he,

This king, thou tell'st me, met the fatal blow.

And now, Ο lady, I will tell the truth.

Wending my steps that way where three roads meet,

There met me first a herald, and a man

Like him thou told'st of, riding on his car,

Drawn by young colts. With rough and hasty force

They drove me from the road,—the driver first,