Oedipus
216
Well are thy vows address'd; nor vain those vows,
But of much force, and lenient of our ills,
Wou'dst thou with deep regard attend my words,
Which I, to each related circumstance
A stranger, and a stranger to the deed,
220
Shall speak; for far my search could not extend,
Having no mark to guide my steps. But now
A Theban late enroll'd, to all of Thebes
I give this charge. Whoe'er among you knows
By whom the son of Labdacus was slain,
225
Him I command t' unfold the whole to me.
But if, through conscious guilt, he fears t' avow
The deed, and charge himself; no harsher doom
Awaits him, than to leave this land, unhurt.
But if among you be a man, who knows
230
Another, of another realm, whose hand
Was with this blood polluted, let him speak,
And not conceal the murderer; for from me
Ample shall be his recompense, and thanks
Added besides. But if ye will not speak,
235
If fearing for himself, or for a friend,
There be a man that disregards my words,
What then shall be my solemn mandate hear.
That man let none within this realm, whose throne,
Whose empire I command, beneath his roof
240
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,
250
Daughter of Jove, my country save;
Hence, goddess, hence the fury sweep
To Amphitrite's chambers deep,
Or the rough Euxine wave!
255
Doth aught the Night from ruin spare?
255
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,
260
With all thy thunders crush this foe!
Potent to aid, Lycéan king,
Thy shafts secure of conquest wing,
Thy beams around, Diana, throw,
265
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,
270
Greef-soothing god of wine and joy;
Wave thy bright torch, and with its flame
This god, to gods an odious name,
This lurid Pest destroy !
