Page:Works of Voltaire Volume 16.djvu/222

200 With terror and regret I must reveal The dreadful secret, Corinth

Not his son!

Thou art not. Polybus, oppressed by conscience, Dying declared it; to the royal blood Of Corinth's kings he yielded up his throne: I who alone enjoyed his confidence, And therefore dreaded the new sovereign's power, Fled to implore thy aid.

Who am I then, If not the son of Polybus?

The gods, Who trusted to my hands thy infant years, In shades of darkest night conceal thy birth; I only know, that soon as born condemned To death, and on a desert hill exposed, Thou but for me hadst perished.

Thus with life Began my sorrows, a detested object Even from my cradle, and accursed by all. Where didst thou light on me?

On mount Citheron,

Near Thebes?