Page:Tragedies of Sophocles (Plumptre 1878).djvu/572

474 Worn out with agony;

Ah, miserable me!

Again the accursèd venom gnaws through me.

Did'st thou not know what gain

It were to silence keep,

Nor banish from the eyes of one in pain

The dew of kindly sleep?

And yet I know not how

To hold my peace, such pain beholding now.

Ο ye Kenæan heights

Whereon mine altars stood,

What meed for holiest rites

Have ye wrought, and for good

Such outrage brought on me!

Would God I ne'er had cast on you mine eye,

Nor lived to see

This crown of frenzied, unsoothed agony.

What minstrel apt to charm,

What leech with skilful arm,

Apart from Zeus, this pain could tranquil keep?

(Wonder far off were that to gaze upon!)

Ah me! but leave me, leave me yet to sleep,

Leave me to sleep, me, miserable one.

Where dost thou touch me? Say,

Where lay to rest?

Ah! thou wilt slay me, slay:

What slumbered thou hast roused to life again;

It seizes me, it creeps, this weary pain.