Page:Tragedies of Sophocles (Plumptre 1878).djvu/272

174 And left to all men witness terrible,

That man's worst ill is want of counsel wise.

[Exit.

Chor. What dost thou make of this? She turneth back,

Before one word, or good or ill, she speaks.

Mess. I too am full of wonder. Yet with hopes

I feed myself, she will not think it meet,

Hearing her son's woes, openly to wail

Out in the town, but to her handmaids there

Will give command to wail her woe at home.

Too trained a judgment has she so to err.

Chor. I know not. To my mind, or silence hard,

Or vain wild cries, are signs of bitter woe.

Mess. Soon we shall know, within the house advancing,

If, in the passion of her heart, she hides

A secret purpose. Truly dost thou speak;

There is a terror in that silence hard.

Chor. [Seeing approaching with the corpse of

in his arms.]

And lo! the king himself is drawing nigh,

And in his hands he bears a record clear,

No woe (if I may speak) by others caused,

Himself the great offender.

Creon. Woe! for the sins of souls of evil mood,

Stern, mighty to destroy!

Ο ye who look on those of kindred race,

The slayers and the slain,

Woe for mine own rash plans that prosper not!

Woe for thee, son; but new in life's career,

And by a new fate dying!

Woe!woe!