OED
Dread Forms of holy Fear, since in this land
Your sanctuary first gave my limbs repose,
Be not obdurate to my prayer, nor spurn
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The voice of Phoebus, who that fateful day,
When he proclaimed my host of ills to come,
Told me of rest after a weary time,
Where else but here? ‘When I should reach my bourne,
And find repose and refuge with the Powers
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Of reverend name, my troubled life should end
With blessing to the men who sheltered me,
And curses on their race who banished me
and sent me wandering forth.’ Whereof he vouched me
Sure token, or by earthquake, or by fire
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From heaven, or thundrous voices. And I know
Some aëry message from your shrine hath drawn me
With wingèd whisper to this grove. Not else
Had ye first met me coming, nor had I
Sate on your dread unchiselled seat of stone,
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With dry cold lips greeting your sober shrine.
Then give Apollo’s word due course, and give
Completion to my life, if in your sight
These toils and sorrows past the human bound
Seem not too little. Kindly, gentle powers,
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Offspring of primal darkness, hear my prayer!
Hear it, Athenai, of all cities queen,
Great Pallas’ foster-city! Look with ruth
On this poor shadow of great Oedipus,
This fading semblance of his kingly form.
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