Page:Tragedies of Sophocles (Plumptre 1878).djvu/446

348 When he speaks craftily, do thou receive

The things that profit in each word he drops:

Now to the ship I go, and trust to thee;

And Hermes, God of Guile, who sends us on,

And Victory, e'en Athena Polias,

Who saves me ever, lead us on to win.

Chor. What, what is meet, my prince,

For me, a stranger in a land that 's strange,

To utter or conceal,

With one so prone to look suspiciously?

Tell me, I pray; his art

All other art and counsel still excels,

Whose hands the sceptre wield

That Zeus assigns from heaven to them that rule;

And thou, my son, hast gained

This glory of the old ancestral past;

Tell me, then, tell, I pray,

What service 'tis our work to do for thee.

Neop. Now, it may be, thou dost wish

To see the place where he lies

Far off. Take courage, and look;

But when he appears who went forth,

Wayfarer dread from this home,

Then come thou at my beck,

And strive to render thy help

As each present need may demand.

Chor. Thou tellest, Ο my king,

Of what has been full long a care to us,