Page:Tragedies of Sophocles (Plumptre 1878).djvu/132

34 What profit is 't for me

To raise my choral strain?

No longer will I go in pilgrim's guise,

To yon all holy place,

Earth's central shrine, nor Abæ's temple old,

Nor to Olympia's fane,

Unless these things shall stand

In sight all men, tokens clear from God.

But, Ο thou sovereign Ruler! if that name,

Ο Zeus, belongs to thee, who reign'st o'er all,

Let not this trespass hide itself from thee,

Or thine undying sway;

For now they set at nought

The worn-out oracles,

That Laios heard of old,

And king Apollo's wonted worship flags,

And all to wreck is gone

The homage due to God.

Joc. Princes of this our land, across my soul

There comes the thought to go from shrine to shrine

Of all the Gods, these garlands in my hand,

And waving incense; for our Œdipus

Vexes his soul too wildly with all woes,

And speaks not as a man should speak who scans

New issues by experience of the old,

But hangs on every breath that tells of fear.