Page:Tragedies of Sophocles (Plumptre 1878).djvu/338

240 Receiving sadly, wished that I might die

Ere I approached his bed. And then there came,

Later, indeed, yet much beloved by me,

Zeus' noble son, whom fair Alcmena bore,

Who, wrestling with him in the strife of war,

Wrought out my rescue. What the mode of fight

I tell not, for I know not. He might tell

Whoe'er could gaze unshrinking at the sight;

For I was there, struck down with panic-fear

[Lest all my beauty should but bring me woe;]

But Zeus, the God of battles, gave to us

Good issue, if in truth it be but good;

For, sharing now the bed of Heracles

By special grace, I cherish fear on fear,

Still pining for him. Night brings woe with it,

And if it bids it go, night but receives

Fresh trouble still. Yea! sons were born to us;

And like a husbandman who tills the soil

Of distant field, and sees the crop but once,

Sowing and reaping, so is he to them;

Such course of life still sends my husband home,

And far from home, in servile labour bound

To one we know. And now when he has reached

The goal of all these labours, most of all

I sit and shudder. Since he smote the might

Of Iphitos, we here in Trachis dwell

Far from our land, and with a stranger host;

And where he is, none knows. But he has left

In this his flight full bitter pangs for me,