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Polynices
Scene II.
CEdipus, Antigone, Ismene, Chorus.
Pol. O my sisters ! see
Of all mankind the most unhappy. Where
1255
Shall I begin? shall I lament my own,
Or shall I weep an aged parent's fate?
For, oh ! 'tis horrible to find him thus
A wandering exile in a foreign land ;
In this moan garb, with wild dishevelled hair,
1260
Bereft of sight, and destitute, perhaps,
Of needful food and nourishment. Alas !
Too late I know it ; worthless jus I am,
I flew to succour him, to plead my cause.
That not from others he might hear the talo
1265
Of my misfortunes. Sacred pity sits
Fast by the throne of Jove, o'er all his works
Presiding gracious. Oh ! let her inspire
Thy breast, my father. Ciimes already done.
Which cannot be recalled, may still be healed
By kind forgiveness : why, then, art thou silent 1
1270
Oh ! speak, my father ; do not turn aside.
Wilt thou not answer ? Wilt thou let me go
Without one word ; nor tell me whence thy wrath
Contemptuous springs 1 My sisters, you at least
Will try to move his unrelenting heart.
1275
And loosen his closed lips, that not thus spurned
And thus unanswered, though a suppliant here
At Neptune's altar, I return with shame
And foul disgrace.
CEdipus, Antigone, Ismene, Chorus.
Pol. O my sisters ! see
Of all mankind the most unhappy. Where
1255
Shall I begin? shall I lament my own,
Or shall I weep an aged parent's fate?
For, oh ! 'tis horrible to find him thus
A wandering exile in a foreign land ;
In this moan garb, with wild dishevelled hair,
1260
Bereft of sight, and destitute, perhaps,
Of needful food and nourishment. Alas !
Too late I know it ; worthless jus I am,
I flew to succour him, to plead my cause.
That not from others he might hear the talo
1265
Of my misfortunes. Sacred pity sits
Fast by the throne of Jove, o'er all his works
Presiding gracious. Oh ! let her inspire
Thy breast, my father. Ciimes already done.
Which cannot be recalled, may still be healed
By kind forgiveness : why, then, art thou silent 1
1270
Oh ! speak, my father ; do not turn aside.
Wilt thou not answer ? Wilt thou let me go
Without one word ; nor tell me whence thy wrath
Contemptuous springs 1 My sisters, you at least
Will try to move his unrelenting heart.
1275
And loosen his closed lips, that not thus spurned
And thus unanswered, though a suppliant here
At Neptune's altar, I return with shame
And foul disgrace.
Oedipus at Colonus. Sophocles. Thomas Francklin (Translator). London. 1758–1759.