Page:Tragedies of Sophocles (Plumptre 1878).djvu/262

164 Saw the dire, blinding wound,

That smote the twin-born sons

Of Phineus by relentless step-dame's hand,—

Dark wound, on dark-doomed eyes,

Not with the stroke of sword,

But blood-stained hands, and point of spindle sharp.

And they in misery, miserable fate,

Wasting away, wept sore,

Born of a mother wedded with a curse.

And she who claimed descent

From men of ancient fame,

The old Erechtheid race,

Amid her father's winds,

Daughter of Boreas, in far distant caves

Was reared, a child of Gods,

Swift moving as the steed

O'er lofty crag, and yet

The ever-living Fates bore hard on her.

Teir. Princes of Thebes, we come as travellers joined,

One seeing for both, for still the blind must use

A guide's assistance to direct his steps.

Creon. And what new thing, Teiresias, brings thee here?

Teir. I [sic]'ll tell thee, and do thou the seer obey.

Creon. Of old I was not wont to slight thy thoughts.

Teir. So did'st thou steer our city's course full well.

Creon. I bear my witness from good profit gained.

Teir. Know, then, thou walk'st on fortune's razor-edge.

Creon. What means this? How I shudder at thy speech!

Teir. Soon shalt thou know, as thou dost hear the signs

Of my dread art For sitting, as of old,