Page:Tragedies of Sophocles (Plumptre 1878).djvu/361

Rh Still waiting, knowing nought of all that passed,)

Counted as wanderer far upon the sea;

And she, his dear-loved wife,

Weeping with many tears,

Full sadly wore her saddened heart away,

But Ares, roused to rage,

Hath freed us from our dark and troublous days.

Ah may he come, yea, come!

Let not his ship of many oars lie to,

Before this city welcomes his approach;

Leaving the island hearth,

Where he his victims slays,

Thence may he come, yea, come with strong desire,

Tempered by suasive spell,

Of that rich unguent, as the Monster spake.

Deian. Ah, women! how I fear lest all I did

But now be found as having gone too far.

Chor. What now, Ο child of Œneus, Deianeira?

Deian. I know not; but I tremble lest too soon

I seem with fair hopes to have wrought great ill.

Chor. Not from those gifts thou gav'st to Heracles?

Deian. Yes. It is that; and never more would I

Bid any yield to impulse hazardous.

Chor. If thou may'st tell it, tell me what thou dread'st.

Deian. Thus much has happened, Ο my friends, most strange,

For you to hear, yea, passing all belief:

For that with which but now I did anoint

The stately snow-white robe, a lock of wool,

This is all gone, by nought within consumed,

But, self-devoured, it withers and decays,