Page:Tragedies of Sophocles (Plumptre 1878).djvu/139

Rh With cry that greets thee, fellow-citizen,

Mother and nurse of Œdipus;

And we will on thee weave our choral dance,

As bringing to our princes glad good news.

Hail, hail! Ο Phœbos, grant that what we do

May meet thy favouring smile.

Who was it bore thee, child,

Of Nymphs whose years are long,

Or drawing near the mighty Father, Pan,

Who wanders o'er the hills,

Or Loxias' paramour,

Who loves the high lawns of the pasturing flocks?

Or was it He who rules

Kyllene's height; or did the Bacchic god,

Whose dwelling is upon the mountain peaks,

Receive thee, gift of Heliconian nymphs,

With whom He loves to sport?

Œdip. If I must needs conjecture, who as yet

Ne'er met the man, I think I see the shepherd,

Whom this long while we sought for. In his age

He this man matches. And I see besides,

My servants bring him. Thou perchance can'st speak

From former knowledge yet more certainly.

Chorus. I know him, king, be sure; for this man stood,

If any, known as Laios' herdsman true.

Œdip. Thee first I ask, Corinthian stranger, say,

Is this the man?