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PHI
468
Now, by thy father, by thy mother,—nay,
465
By all thy love e’er cherished in thy home,
465
Suppliant I beg thee, leave me not thus lone,
465
Forlorn in all my misery which thou seest,
465
In all thou hast heard of here surrounding me!
Stow me with other freightage. Full of care,
I know, and burdensome the charge may prove.
Yet venture! Surely to the noble mind
All shame is hateful and all kindness blest.
And shame would be thy meed, didst thou fail here
But, doing this, thou shalt have glorious fame,
When I return alive to Oeta’s vale.
Come, ’tis the labour not of one whole day.
So thou durst take me, fling me where thou wilt
O’ the ship, in hold, prow, stern, or wheresoe’er
I least may trouble those on board with me.
Ah! by great Zeus, the suppliant’s friend, comply,
My son, be softened! See, where I am fall’n
Thus on my knees before thee, though so weak,
470
Crippled and powerless. Ah! forsake me not
470
Thus far from human footstep. Take me, take me!
470
If only to thy home, or to the town
470
Of old Chalcodon in Euboea.—From thence
I have not far to Oeta, and the ridge
Of Trachis, and Spercheius’ lordly flood.
So thou shalt bless my father with my sight.
And yet long since I fear he may be gone.
For oft I sent him suppliant prayers by men
Who touched this isle, entreating him to fetch
And bear me safely home with his own crew.
But either he is dead, or else, methinks,
It well may be, my messengers made light
Of my concerns, and hastened onward home.
But now in thee I find both messenger
And convoy, thou wilt pity me and save.
For, well thou knowest, danger never sleeps,
And fear of dark reverse is always nigh.
475
Mortals, when free, should look where mischief lurks,
475
And in their happiest hour consider well
475
Their life, lest ruin unsuspected come.
475
Pity him, O my king!
Many a crushing woe
He telleth, such as I pray
None of my friends may know.
And if, dear master, thou mislikest sore
Yon cruel-hearted lordly pair, I would,
Turning their plan of evil to his good,
On swift ship bear him to his native shore,
Meeting his heart’s desire; and free thy path
From fear of heavenly wrath.
Now, by thy father, by thy mother,—nay,
465
By all thy love e’er cherished in thy home,
465
Suppliant I beg thee, leave me not thus lone,
465
Forlorn in all my misery which thou seest,
465
In all thou hast heard of here surrounding me!
Stow me with other freightage. Full of care,
I know, and burdensome the charge may prove.
Yet venture! Surely to the noble mind
All shame is hateful and all kindness blest.
And shame would be thy meed, didst thou fail here
But, doing this, thou shalt have glorious fame,
When I return alive to Oeta’s vale.
Come, ’tis the labour not of one whole day.
So thou durst take me, fling me where thou wilt
O’ the ship, in hold, prow, stern, or wheresoe’er
I least may trouble those on board with me.
Ah! by great Zeus, the suppliant’s friend, comply,
My son, be softened! See, where I am fall’n
Thus on my knees before thee, though so weak,
470
Crippled and powerless. Ah! forsake me not
470
Thus far from human footstep. Take me, take me!
470
If only to thy home, or to the town
470
Of old Chalcodon in Euboea.—From thence
I have not far to Oeta, and the ridge
Of Trachis, and Spercheius’ lordly flood.
So thou shalt bless my father with my sight.
And yet long since I fear he may be gone.
For oft I sent him suppliant prayers by men
Who touched this isle, entreating him to fetch
And bear me safely home with his own crew.
But either he is dead, or else, methinks,
It well may be, my messengers made light
Of my concerns, and hastened onward home.
But now in thee I find both messenger
And convoy, thou wilt pity me and save.
For, well thou knowest, danger never sleeps,
And fear of dark reverse is always nigh.
475
Mortals, when free, should look where mischief lurks,
475
And in their happiest hour consider well
475
Their life, lest ruin unsuspected come.
475
Pity him, O my king!
Many a crushing woe
He telleth, such as I pray
None of my friends may know.
And if, dear master, thou mislikest sore
Yon cruel-hearted lordly pair, I would,
Turning their plan of evil to his good,
On swift ship bear him to his native shore,
Meeting his heart’s desire; and free thy path
From fear of heavenly wrath.
Philoctetes. Sophocles. Lewis Campbell (Translator). London, New York and Toronto. 1906.