Part 5

OEDIPUS.

And what strange mischief, when your master lay Thus fallen, held you back from search and deed?

CREON.

The dark-songed Sphinx was here. We had no heed Of distant sorrows, having death so near.

OEDIPUS.

It falls on me then. I will search and clear This darkness.--Well hath Phoebus done, and thou Too, to recall that dead king, even now, And with you for the right I also stand, To obey the God and succour this dear land. Nor is it as for one that touches me Far off; 'tis for mine own sake I must see This sin cast out. Whoe'er it was that slew Laïus, the same wild hand may seek me too: And caring thus for Laïus, is but care For mine own blood.--Up! Leave this altar-stair, Children. Take from it every suppliant bough. Then call the folk of Thebes. Say, 'tis my vow To uphold them to the end. So God shall crown Our greatness, or for ever cast us down.

PRIEST.

My children, rise.--The King most lovingly Hath promised all we came for. And may He

Who sent this answer, Phoebus, come confessed Helper to Thebes, and strong to stay the pest.

CHORUS.

A Voice, a Voice, that is borne on the Holy Way! What art thou, O Heavenly One, O Word of the Houses of Gold? Thebes is bright with thee, and my heart it leapeth; yet is it cold, And my spirit faints as I pray. I-ê! I-ê! What task, O Affrighter of Evil, what task shall thy people essay? One new as our new-come affliction, Or an old toil returned with the years? Unveil thee, thou dread benediction, Hope's daughter and Fear's.

Zeus-Child that knowest not death, to thee I pray, O Pallas; next to thy Sister, who calleth Thebes her own, Artemis, named of Fair Voices, who sitteth her orbèd throne In the throng of the market way:

And I-ê! I-ê! Apollo, the Pure, the Far-smiter; O Three that keep evil away, If of old for our city's desire, When the death-cloud hung close to her brow, Ye have banished the wound and the fire, Oh! come to us now!

Wounds beyond telling; my people sick unto death; And where is the counsellor, where is the sword of thought? And Holy Earth in her increase perisheth: The child dies and the mother awaketh not. I-ê! I-ê! We have seen them, one on another, gone as a bird is gone, Souls that are flame; yea, higher, Swifter they pass than fire, To the rocks of the dying Sun.

Their city wasteth unnumbered; their children lie Where death hath cast them, unpitied, unwept upon. The altars stand, as in seas of storm a high Rock standeth, and wives and mothers grey thereon Weep, weep and pray. Lo, joy-cries to fright the Destroyer; a flash in the dark they rise, Then die by the sobs overladen. Send help, O heaven-born Maiden, Let us look on the light of her eyes!

And Ares, the abhorred Slayer, who bears no sword, But shrieking, wrapped in fire, stands over me, Make that he turn, yea, fly Broken, wind-wasted, high Down the vexed hollow of the Vaster Sea; Or back to his own Thrace, To harbour shelterless. Where Night hath spared, he bringeth end by day. Him, Him, O thou whose hand Beareth the lightning brand, O Father Zeus, now with thy thunder, slay and slay!

Where is thy gold-strung bow, O Wolf-god, where the flow Of living shafts unconquered, from all ills Our helpers? Where the white Spears of thy Sister's light, Far-flashing as she walks the wolf-wild hills? And thou, O Golden-crown, Theban and named our own, O Wine-gleam, Voice of Joy, for ever more Ringed with thy Maenads white, Bacchus, draw near and smite, Smite with thy glad-eyed flame the God whom Gods abhor.

OEDIPUS.

Thou prayest: but my words if thou wilt hear And bow thee to their judgement, strength is near

For help, and a great lightening of ill. Thereof I come to speak, a stranger still To all this tale, a stranger to the deed: (Else, save that I were clueless, little need Had I to cast my net so wide and far:) Howbeit, I, being now as all ye are, A Theban, to all Thebans high and low Do make proclaim: if any here doth know By what man's hand died Laïus, your King, Labdacus' son, I charge him that he bring To me his knowledge. Let him feel no fear If on a townsman's body he must clear Our guilt: the man shall suffer no great ill, But pass from Thebes, and live where else he will.

Is it some alien from an alien shore Ye know to have done the deed, screen him no more! Good guerdon waits you now and a King's love Hereafter. Hah! If still ye will not move But, fearing for yourselves or some near friend, Reject my charge, then hearken to what end Ye drive me.--If in this place men there be Who know and speak not, lo, I make decree That, while in Thebes I bear the diadem, No man shall greet, no man shall shelter them, Nor give them water in their thirst, nor share In sacrifice nor shrift nor dying prayer, But thrust them from our doors, the thing they hide Being this land's curse. Thus hath the God replied This day to me from Delphi, and my sword I draw thus for the dead and for God's word.

And lastly for the murderer, be it one Hiding alone or more in unison, I speak on him this curse: even as his soul Is foul within him let his days be foul, And life unfriended grind him till he die. More: if he ever tread my hearth and I Know it, be every curse upon my head That I have spoke this day. All I have said I charge ye strictly to fulfil and make Perfect, for my sake, for Apollo's sake, And this land's sake, deserted of her fruit And cast out from her gods. Nay, were all mute At Delphi, still 'twere strange to leave the thing Unfollowed, when a true man and a King Lay murdered. All should search. But I, as now Our fortunes fall--his crown is on my brow, His wife lies in my arms, and common fate, Had but his issue been more fortunate, Might well have joined our children--since this red Chance hath so stamped its heel on Laïus' head, I am his champion left, and, as I would For mine own father, choose for ill or good This quest, to find the man who slew of yore Labdacus' son, the son of Polydore, Son of great Cadmus whom Agenor old Begat, of Thebes first master. And, behold, For them that aid me not, I pray no root Nor seed in earth may bear them corn nor fruit, No wife bear children, but this present curse Cleave to them close and other woes yet worse. Enough: ye other people of the land,

Whose will is one with mine, may Justice stand Your helper, and all gods for evermore.

LEADER.

O King, even while thy curse yet hovers o'er My head, I answer thee. I slew him not, Nor can I shew the slayer. But, God wot, If Phoebus sends this charge, let Phoebus read Its meaning and reveal who did the deed.

OEDIPUS.

Aye, that were just, if of his grace he would Reveal it. How shall man compel his God?

LEADER.