Part 35

His will was clear enough, to stamp the unclean Thing out, the bloody hand, the heart of sin.

CREON.

'Twas thus he seemed to speak; but in this sore Strait we must needs learn surer than before.

OEDIPUS.

Thou needs must trouble God for one so low?

CREON.

Surely; thyself will trust his answer now.

OEDIPUS.

I charge thee more ... and, if thou fail, my sin Shall cleave to thee.... For her who lies within,

Make as thou wilt her burial. 'Tis thy task To tend thine own. But me: let no man ask This ancient city of my sires to give Harbour in life to me. Set me to live On the wild hills and leave my name to those Deeps of Kithairon which my father chose, And mother, for my vast and living tomb. As they, my murderers, willed it, let my doom Find me. For this my very heart doth know, No sickness now, nor any mortal blow, Shall slay this body. Never had my breath Been thus kept burning in the midst of death, Save for some frightful end. So, let my way Go where it listeth. But my children--Nay, Creon, my sons will ask thee for no care. Men are they, and can find them everywhere What life needs. But my two poor desolate Maidens.... There was no table ever set Apart for them, but whatso royal fare I tasted, they were with me and had share In all.... Creon, I pray, forget them not. And if it may be, go, bid them be brought,

That I may touch their faces, and so weep.... Go, Prince. Go, noble heart!... If I might touch them, I should seem to keep And not to have lost them, now mine eyes are gone.... What say I? In God's name, can it be I hear mine own

Beloved ones sobbing? Creon of his grace Hath brought my two, my dearest, to this place. Is it true?

CREON.

'Tis true. I brought them, for in them I know Thy joy is, the same now as long ago.

OEDIPUS.

God bless thee, and in this hard journey give Some better guide than mine to help thee live. Children! Where are ye? Hither; come to these Arms of your ... brother, whose wild offices Have brought much darkness on the once bright eyes Of him who grew your garden; who, nowise Seeing nor understanding, digged a ground The world shall shudder at. Children, my wound Is yours too, and I cannot meet your gaze Now, as I think me what remaining days Of bitter living the world hath for you. What dance of damsels shall ye gather to, What feast of Thebes, but quick ye shall turn home, All tears, or ere the feast or dancers come? And, children, when ye reach the years of love, Who shall dare wed you, whose heart rise above The peril, to take on him all the shame That cleaves to my name and my children's name? God knows, it is enough!... My flowers, ye needs must die, waste things, bereft And fruitless. Creon, thou alone art left Their father now, since both of us are gone Who cared for them. Oh, leave them not alone

To wander masterless, these thine own kin, And beggared. Neither think of them such sin As ye all know in me, but let their fate Touch thee. So young they are, so desolate-- Of all save thee. True man, give me thine hand, And promise.

If your age could understand, Children, full many counsels I could give. But now I leave this one word: Pray to live As life may suffer you, and find a road To travel easier than your father trod.

CREON.

Enough thy heart hath poured its tears; now back into thine house repair.

OEDIPUS.

I dread the house, yet go I must.

CREON.

Fair season maketh all things fair.

OEDIPUS.

One oath then give me, and I go.

CREON.

Name it, and I will answer thee.