DIP. Royal Apollo, may he bring success

PR.

And safety, as it brightens in his eye!"

Cheerful indeed his aspect; else his head

With wreaths of laurel had not thus been crown'd. CDIP. Soon shall we know; he now may be address'd.

CEDIPUS, CREON, THEBANS.

DIP. Son of Menceceus, to the royal blood

Allied, what answer bring'st thou from the god? CR. Of good I have to tell thee: all our ill May, if directed well, find happy end.

CDIP. Relate his words distinctly; for thy speech

Nor gives me confidence, nor wakes my fears.
CR. By these encircled wou'dst thou hear, I stand
Ready to speak, or to retire apart.

CDIP. Speak to them all; for dearer than my life
I prize the means to remedy their grief.

CR.

Then let me speak what from the god I heard.
The royal Phoebus gave us clear command
Hence the pollution of our realm to drive,
Now nourish'd in the bosom of the land,
Nor cherish an immedicable ill.

CDIP. What the offence? the expiation what?
CR. By exile, or by death avenging death;

CR.

For this blood desolates the suffering land. ŒDIP. At whose disastrous fortune doth this point? Once, ere the empire of this state was thine, Laius, O king, was sovereign lord of Thebes. DIP. This from the voice of fame hath reach'd my ears, But Laius never did mine eyes behold.

CR.

His death the god with no ambiguous voice
Commands us on his murderers to avenge.

L. 84. See the Hippolytus of Euripides, 1. 850. n.

CDIP. Where are they? By what methods may be found
The faint-mark'd footsteps of this long-past guilt?
CR. This country holds them, said the god. Pursuit
May overtake what through neglect escapes.
CDIP. Beneath some roof, or in the open fields,
Or in some foreign land was Laius slain?
Hence to consult the oracle he went,

CR.

And never to his royal house return'd.

CDIP. Did none return, none of his train, who saw
His death, of whom inquiry may be made?
CR. All fell, save one; who, flying wild with fear,
Of what he saw one thing alone could tell.
CDIP. Say what; for one thing, if we gain a gleam
Of hope, may lead us to discover more.

CR.

That, met by ruffians, not by one man's force
He fell, but by a numerous band oppress'd.
@DIP. How should the ruffian, if not bribed with gold
From hence, presume t' attempt this daring deed?
CR. Not unsuspected this: but 'midst our ills
None to avenge the death of Laius rose.

CDIP. What pressing ill, your monarch murder'd thus,
Restrain❜d you, that inquiry was not made?
CR. The dark-descanting Sphinx from things unseen
Forced our attention to more instant ills.

EDIP. But I will bring them into light again

From their first cause. Of Phoebus for the dead

This zeal is worthy, worthy too of thee;

And me confederate in the same just cause
You shall behold; this country and the god

I will avenge. Not for some distant friend,

L. 140. There is some little obscurity here. Edipus had declared his purpose to engage in this inquiry for the relief of his country, and in concurrence with the god. He now mentions an additional motive, which more nearly concerned himself; it was the common cause of royalty. The ruf

But for myself, this execrable guilt

Be it my care to crush: for the same hand,
That murder'd him, may soon be raised to plunge
With the same rage the falchion in my breast;
Therefore avenging him I guard myself.

But rise, my children, from your lowly seats

With speed, and bear these suppliant branches hence.
Hither th' assembled sons of Thebes convene :

My pow'r shall be exerted; and once more
Will we, confiding in the favouring god,
Together prosper, or together fall.

Let us arise, my sons: our sovereign grants
The grace we came to ask; and may the god,
Who sent this answer from his hallow'd shrine,
Preserve us, and this wasting pest avert !

Thou oracle of Jove, what fate
From Pytho's golden shrine
Brings to th' illustrious Theban state
Thy sweet-breathed voice divine?
My trembling heart what terror rends,
While dread suspense on thee attends,

fian, that murdered Laius, might, if he were permitted to go unpunished, murder him. By rãv årwriga qiλwy," some distant friend," he points to Laius; the expression is indeed indefinite, but it was neither necessary nor proper that it should be more distinctly marked; with regard to Laius thus far Edipus had been very cold and indifferent.

L. 156. Oracles were by the ancients ultimately referred to Jupiter. This prophetic power he gave to other deities whom he was disposed to grace ; thus Eschylus, speaking of Apollo, says,

With his own sacred skill high Jove inspired

His raptured soul, and placed him on his throne,

The fourth prophetic god, whence now he gives
His father's oracles.

THE FURIES.

O Delian Pæan, healing pow'r! Daughter of golden Hope, to me,

Blest voice, what now dost thou decree,

Or in time's future hour?

Daughter of heav'n's almighty lord,

Immortal Pallas, hear!

And thou, Diana, queen ador'd,

Whose tutelary care

Protects these walls, this favour'd state,
Amidst this forum 'round whose seat
Sublime encircling pillars stand!
God of the distant-wounding bow,
Apollo, hear; avert our woe,

And save the sick'ning land!

This realm when former ills opprest
If your propitious pow'r
In mercy crush'd the baleful Pest

Outrageous to devour;

In mercy now extend your care,
For all is misery and despair,

And vain the counsels of the wise.
No fruit, no grain to ripeness grows;
The matron feels untimely throes,

The birth abortive dies.

The Shades, as birds of rapid flight,

In quick succession go,

Quick as the flames that flash through night,...

To Pluto's realms below.

Th' unpeopled town beholds the dead
Wide o'er her putrid pavements spread,

Nor graced with tear or obsequy.

The altars round a mournful band,

The wives, the hoary matrons, stand,
And heave the suppliant sigh.

With deep sighs mix'd the hallow'd strain

Bursts fervent to the skies:

Deign then, O radiant Pallas, deign

In all thy might to rise.

From this fierce pow'r which raging round
Unarm'd inflicts thy fiery wound,

Daughter of Jove, my country save;
Hence, goddess, hence the fury sweep
To Amphitrite's chambers deep,
Or the rough Euxine wave!

Doth aught the Night from ruin spare?
The Morning's sickly ray,
Pregnant with death, inflames the air,
And gives disease its prey,
Father of gods, whose matchless force
Wings the red lightning's vengeful course,
With all thy thunders crush this foe!
Potent to aid, Lycéan king,

Thy shafts secure of conquest wing,
And bend thy golden bow!

Thy beams around, Diana, throw,
And pierce this gloom of night,
As on Lyceum's moss-clad brow
Thou pour'st thy silver light!
Thy nymphs, O Theban Bacchus lead,

The golden mitre round thy head,

L. 204. This is the language of poetry: such is the myrtoum mare and mare criticum of Horace.