Page:Tragedies of Sophocles (Plumptre 1878).djvu/146

48 Wailing and woe, and death and shame, all forms

That man can name of evil, none have failed.

Chorus. What rest from suffering hath the poor wretch now?

Sec. Mess. He calls to us to ope the bolts, and show

To all in Thebes his father's murderer,

His mother's Foul and fearful were the words

He spoke; I dare not speak them. Then he said

That he would cast himself adrift, nor stay

At home accursèd, as himself had cursed.

Some stay he surely needs, or guiding hand,

For greater is the ill than he can bear,

And this he soon will show thee, for the bolts

Of the two gates are opening, and thou 'lt see

A sight to touch e'en hatred's self with pity.

Chorus. Oh, fearful sight for men to look upon!

Most fearful of all woes

I hitherto have known! What madness strange

Has come on thee, thou wretched one?

What Power with one fell swoop,

Ills heaping upon ills,

Than greatest greater yet,

Has marked thee for its prey?

Woe! woe! thou doomed one, wishing much to ask,

And much to learn, and much to gaze into,

I cannot look on thee,

So horrible the sight!

Œdip. Ah, woe! ah, woe! ah, woe!

Woe for my misery!

Where am I wandering in my utter woe?

Where floats my voice in air?