FullReads

OED.
What was that thing? A little door of hope,
Once opened, may discover much to view.

CR.
A random troop of robbers, meeting him,
Outnumbered and o’erpowered him. So ’twas told.

OED.
What robber would have ventured such a deed,
If unsolicited with bribes from hence?

CR.
We thought of that. But Laius being dead,
We found no helper in our miseries.

OED.
When majesty was fallen, what misery
Could hinder you from searching out the truth?

CR.
A present trouble had engrossed our care.
The riddling Sphinx compelled us to observe
The moment’s grief, neglecting things unknown.

OED.
But I will track this evil to the spring
And clear it to the day. Most worthily
Doth great Apollo, worthily dost thou
Prompt this new care for the unthought of dead.
And me too ye shall find a just ally,
Succouring the cause of Phoebus and the land.
Since, in dispelling this dark cloud, I serve
No indirect or distant claim on me,
But mine own life, for he that slew the king
May one day turn his guilty hand ‘gainst me
With equal rage. In righting Laius, then,
I forward mine own cause.–Now, children, rise
From the altar-steps, and lift your suppliant boughs,
And let some other summon to this place
All Cadmus’ people, and assure them, I
Will answer every need. This day shall see us
Blest with glad fortune through God’s help, or fallen.

PR.
Rise then, my children. Even for this we came
Which our good lord hath promised of himself.
Only may Phoebus, who hath sent this word,
With healing power descend, and stay the plague.

[Exeunt severally]

CHORUS
(entering).

Kind voice of Heaven, soft-breathing from the height
Of Pytho’s opulent home to Thebe bright,
What wilt thou bring to day?
Ah, Delian Healer, say!
My heart hangs on thy word with trembling awe:
What new giv’n law,
Or what returning in Time’s circling round
Wilt thou unfold? Tell us, immortal sound,
Daughter of golden Hope, tell us, we pray, we pray!

First, child of Zeus, Pallas, to thee appealing,
Then to sweet Artemis, thy sister, kneeling,
Who with benignant hand
Still guards our sacred land,
Throned o’er the circling mart that hears her praise,
And thou, whose rays
Pierce evil from afar, ho! come and save,
Ye mighty three! if e’er before ye drave
The threatening fire of woe from Thebe, come to day!

For ah! the griefs that on me weigh
Are numberless; weak are my helpers all,
And thought finds not a sword to fray
This hated pestilence from hearth or hall.
Earth’s blossoms blasted fall:
Nor can our women rise
From childbed after pangs and cries;
But flocking more and more
Toward the western shore,
Soul after soul is known to wing her flight,
Swifter than quenchless flame, to the far realm of Night.

So deaths innumerable abound.
My city’s sons unpitied lie around
Over the plague-encumbered ground
And wives and matrons old on every hand
Along the altar-strand
Groaning in saddest grief
Pour supplication for relief.
Loud hymns are sounding clear
With wailing voices near.
Then, golden daughter of the heavenly sire,
Send bright-eyed Succour forth to drive away this fire.

And swiftly speed afar,
Windborne on backward car,
The viewless fiend who scares me with wild cries,
To oarless Thracian tide,
Of ocean-chambers wide,
About the bed where Amphitrite lies.
Day blights what night hath spared. O thou whose hand
Wields lightning, blast him with thy thundrous brand.