Sophocles Oedipus Tyrannus 371

ed. Lewis Campbell

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τυφλὸς τά τ᾽ ὦτα τόν τε νοῦν τά τ' ὄμματ᾿ εἶ.

Oedipus Tyrannus. Sophocles. ed. Lewis Campbell. Oxford. 1879.

Current edition Experimental

Greek (Lewis Campbell, 1879) (OCR draft) (Greek) (Greek (Lewis Campbell, 1879))

Provisional text from uncorrected OCR; expect errors.

Editions (1)
Greek (F. Storr, 1912) (OCR draft) Experimental (Greek (F. Storr, 1912)) — 463-511 focus
Translations (4)
English (Lewis Campbell, 1906) (OCR draft) Experimental (English (Lewis Campbell, 1906)) — 371 focus
THEB. SH
The child was of the stock of Laius.
German (J. J. C. Donner, 1875; OCR review) (OCR draft) Experimental (German (J. J. C. Donner, 1875; OCR review)) — 380 focus
Reichthümer, Herrschaft, und o Kunst, der keine Kunst
Im neiderfüllten Leben sich zur Seite stellt,
Welch schnöde Mißgunst heget ihr in eurem Schooß,
Wenn um des Thrones willen, den mir diese Stadt
Unaufgefordert übergab als freien Lohn,
385
Mir Kreon, jener treue Freund aus alter Zeit,
Nachschleicht im Rücken und mich auszutreiben strebt,
Anstellend diesen Zaubermann, den Ränkeschmid,
Den listenreichen Gaukler, der in Wucher nur
Scharfsichtig und in seiner Kunst ein Blinder ist!
390
Denn sage, wo bewährst du deine Seherkraft?
Als hier die Hündin ihre Räthsel sang, warum 1
Sprachst du für unsre Bürger kein erlösend Wort?
Doch war es nicht des nächsten besten Mannes Werk,
Den Spruch zu deuten, nein, bedurfte Seherkunst;
395
Die lerntest du von deinen Vogelzeichen nicht,
Noch offenbarte dir's ein Gott: ich, Dedipus,
Erschien, ein Ziel ihr sezend, ich Unkundiger,
Durch Geist es treffend, nicht belehrt vom Vogelflug.
Und den versuchst du fortzutreiben, weil du dann
400
Kreon's erhabnem Throne nah zu stehen hoffst.
Ihr werdet weinend, hoff' ich, du wie dein Genoß,
Den Bann vollstrecken: säh' ich nicht in dir den Greis,
Du würd'st in Leid erkennen, was du mir ersannst.
English (Robert Potter, 1788) (OCR draft) Experimental (English (Robert Potter, 1788)) — 371 focus
Creon
Can see you, thinking on the cruel griefs
Which must embitter all your life, I weep.
To the bright circles of assembled dames
How will you go? Or how on festive days
To the throng'd theatre, returning home
More than each spectacle of tragic woe
Lamented there? But when your blooming age
Leads on the nuptial hour, who is the man,
My children, that will lead you to his house,
Regardless of the infamy which marks
My parents, and devolves the stain on you?
Interminable ills? Your father kill'd
His father, mounted then his mother's bed
And gave you, whence he drew his own, your birth.
With infamy you thus will be reproach'd :
What youth will wed you then? Alas, not one :
Neglected, O my children, must you waste
In cheerless solitude your lives away....
Son of Menæceus, since alone to these
A father thou art left (for we, who were
Their parents, are no more) neglect them not,
They are allied to thee, let them not roam
Unhusbanded, unfriended, and to want
Exposed, nor let their miseries equal mine:
Have pity on them, for their helpless age
Thou seest, by all abandon'd, save what rests
On thee: assent then, O thou generous man,
And pledge thy hand....To you once more I turn,
My children: to instruction were your age
Mature, much admonition on your minds
Would I enforce: but now I can no more
Than pour this pray'r, where'er your lot to live
That happier than your father's be your lives.
Enough of tears: but enter now the house.
English (Sir Richard Jebb, 1904) (OCR draft) Experimental (English (Sir Richard Jebb, 1904)) — 463-510 focus