Sir Richard C. Jebb Commentary on Sophocles: Philoctetes 6

Commentary on Sophocles: Philoctetes. Sir Richard C. Jebb. Cambridge. 1932.

Sponsored by Perseus Project, Tufts University.

Funding provided by National Endowment for the Humanities.

Current edition Experimental

Commentary (R. C. Jebb) (OCR draft) (English) (Commentary (R. C. Jebb))

Provisional text from uncorrected OCR; expect errors.

Editions (2)
Greek (Lewis Campbell, 1879) (OCR draft) Experimental (Greek (Lewis Campbell, 1879)) — 827 focus
ἀλλ᾽ ὅδε μὲν κλύει οὐδέν, ἐγὼ δ᾽ ὁρῶ οἵνεκα θήραν
τήνδ᾽ ἁλίως ἔχομεν τόξων, δίχα τοῦδε πλέοντες.
840
τοῦδε γὰρ ὁ στέφανος, τοῦτον θεὸς εἶπε κομίζειν.
κομπεῖν δ᾽ ἔστ᾽ ἀτελῆ σὺν σὺμ σὺν ψεύδεσιν αἰσχρὸν ὄνειδος.
Greek (F. Storr, 1912) (OCR draft) Experimental (Greek (F. Storr, 1912)) — 827-864 focus
Translations (5)
English (Lewis Campbell, 1906) (OCR draft) Experimental (English (Lewis Campbell, 1906)) — 827 focus
Lord of the happiest life,
Sleep, thou that know’st not strife,
That know’st not grief,
Still wafting sure relief,
Come, saviour now!
830
Thy healing balm is spread
Over this pain worn head,
Quench not the beam that gives calm to his brow.
Look, O my lord, to thy path,
Either to go or to stay
How is my thought to proceed?
835
What is our cause for delay?
835
Look! Opportunity’s power,
Fitting the task to the hour,
Giveth the race to the swift.
He hears not. But I see that to have ta’en
His bow without him were a bootless gain
He must sail with us. So the god hath said
840
Heaven hath decreed this garland for his head:
And to have failed with falsehood were a meed
Of shameful soilure for a shameless deed.
God shall determine the end—
But for thine answer, friend,
Waft soft words low!
All sick men’s sleep, we know,
845
Hath open eye;
Their quickly ruffling mind
Quivers in lightest wind,
Sleepless in slumber new danger to spy.
Think, O my lord, of thy path,
Secretly look forth afar,
850
What wilt thou do for thy need?
How with the wise wilt thou care?
If toward the nameless thy heart
Chooseth this merciful part,
Huge are the dangers that drift.
855
The wind is fair, my son, the wind is fair,
The man is dark and helpless, stretched in night.
(O kind, warm sleep that calmest human care!)
Powerless of hand and foot and ear and sight,
Blind, as one lying in the house of death.
(Think well if here thou utterest timely breath.)
860
This, O my son, is all my thought can find,
Best are the toils that without frightening bind.
German (J. J. C. Donner, 1875; OCR review) (OCR draft) Experimental (German (J. J. C. Donner, 1875; OCR review)) — 827 focus
Schlummer, des Grams und der Sorge vergessender
Gott, sanft anhauchend erschein' uns,
Du Labsal unserem Dasein, komm!
800
Halte vom Aug' ihm fern
Dies Licht, das über der Erde wallt!
Erschein' uns, Heilbringer!
(zu Neoptolemos)
Du Jüngling, sich zu, wo du
Stehst, wohin du gehst, und was uns weiter
805
Zu thun sei! Schon weißt du's:
Was säumst du noch länger?
Die gelegene Zeit, Rath schaffend in Allem,
Gewinnt, rasch ergriffen, glorreichen Sieg.
Wohl, er vernimmt nichts mehr. Doch glaube mir, daß wir des Bogens
810
Beute vergeblich errungen, entschiffen wir ohne den Mann hier.
Denn sein wartet der Kranz, ihn hieß uns bringen die Gottheit.
Unvollendeter That mit Lug sich zu rühmen, wie schmachvoll!
Gegenstrophe.
Solches, o Jüngling, ordnen die Ewigen:
Doch, gibst du mir Antwort wieder,
815
Ganz leise nur, leise nur (hörst du, Kind?)
Sende zu mir dein Wort.
Denn schlaflos ist ja der Kranken Schlaf,
Und lauscht, und sieht Alles.
Doch suche, wähl' aufs Beste,
820
Spähe still und heimlich, sorgsam spähe
Mir, was du thun willst, aus.
Von wem ich hier rede,
Das weißt du ja: stimmt dein Wille zu seinem,
Entwirrt selbst ein Kluger solch Wirrsal kaum.
825
Schlußgesang.
Fahrwind athmet ja, Fahrwind,
Sohn! Hülflos liegt er und augenlos,
Der Mann hier, nächtlich im Schlafe gestreckt,
(Willkommener Schlaf uns!)
Weder der Hand noch dem Fuße gebeut er,
830
Nein, als läg' er im Schooße des Aïdes,
So blickt er. Sprich, was an der Zeit ist!
Dies eine nur, o Sohn, wurde mir klar:
Wagst du furchtlos, glückt die That wohl.
English (Thomas Francklin, 1758–1759) (OCR draft) Experimental (English (Thomas Francklin, 1758–1759)) — 839 focus
Sleep hath o'ertaken him. See, his head is lain
On the cold earth ; the balmy sweat thick drops
From every limb, and from the broken vein
Flows the warm blood ; let us indulge his slumbers.
INVOCATION TO SLEEP.
Sleep, thou patron of mankind,
Great physician of the mind,
Who dost nor pain nor sorrow know,
840
Sweetest balm of every woe,
840
Mildest sovereign, hear us now ;
840
Hear thy wretched suppliant's vow ;
840
His eyes in gentle slumbers close.
840
And continue his repose ;
840
Hear thy wretched suppliant's tow,
840
Great physician, hear us now.
And now, my son, what best may suit thy purpose
Consider well, and how we are to act.
What more can we expect? The time is come ;
For better far is opportunity
Seized at the lucky hour than all the counsels
Which wisdom dictates or which craft inspires.
Ned. He hears us not. But easy as it is
To gain the prize, it would avail us nothing
Were he not with us ? Phoebus hath reserved
For him alone the crown of victory ;
But thus to boast of what we could not do.
And break our word, were most disgraceful to us.
The gods will guide us, fear it not, my son ;
But what thou sayst speak soft, for well thou knowst
The sick man's sleep is short. He may awake
And hear us ; therefore let us hide our purpose.
If then thou thinkst as he does — thou knowst whom—
This is the hour. At such a time, my son.
The wisest err. But mark me, the wind's fair.
And Philoctctes sleeps, void of all help —
Lame, impotent, unable to resist,
He is as one among the dead. E'en now
We'll take him with us. 'Twere an easy task.
Leave it to me, my son. There is no danger.
Ned. No more ! His eyes are open. See, he moves.
English (Robert Potter, 1788) (OCR draft) Experimental (English (Robert Potter, 1788)) — 827 focus
O sleep, that know'st not care, that know'st not pain,
Come gently-breathing, sorrow-charming king:
Veil from his eyes this light, whose glaring beams
Unshaded now are spread: come, healing pow'r! -
The hour, my son, requires deliberate thought,
Thy purpose fix'd or changed: this is the hour
To charge us with thy mandates. What avails
835
Longer delay? Occasion hath a pow'r
Surpassing all the counsels of the wise.
True, he hears nothing: but these arms in vain
We make our prize, without him if we sail;
For his the crown; he must be borne to Troy;
840
So will'd the god. How base to boast of deeds,
Which e'en with falsehood could not be achieved!
These things, my son, the god will make his care.
But when to me thy mandates thou shalt give,
Low be thy voice; for sleep in the diseased
845
Is ever on the watch, nor seals the eyes.
What now is in thy pow'r with caution act,
And silence: if with his thy thoughts accord,
Thou know'st of whom I speak, thou seest his state,
850
Let prudence judge, unable to resist.
The gale, my son, the fav'ring gale now breathes;
He sees not, helpless as in night's dark hour
He lies, and sleep, which all his senses locks,
Aids the design; nor hand nor foot discharge
Their functions; but like one, for whom the tomb
Is open'd, see him stretched: this hath a voice
That calls us to the deed; to seize him now
Were easy; be the task to me assign'd:
860
Best is that toil on which no danger waits.
English (Sir Richard Jebb, 1904) (OCR draft) Experimental (English (Sir Richard Jebb, 1904)) — 827-860 focus