Page:Sophocles - Seven Plays, 1900.djvu/335

Villain, who when possessed of the chief power
Which now thy brother holds o’er Theban land,
Didst banish me, thy father, who stand here,
To live in exile, clothed with such attire,
That moves thy tears now that thine own estate
Is fallen into like depth of struggling woe.
But tears are bootless. Howsoe’er I live,
I must endure, and hold thee still my murderer.
’Tis thou hast girt me round with misery,
’Tis thou didst drive me forth, and driven by thee
I beg my bread, a wandering sojourner.
Yea, had these daughters not been born to me
To tend me, I were dead, for all thou hast done.
They have rescued, they have nursed me. They are men,
Not women, in the strength of ministry.
Ye are another’s, not my sons.—For this
The eye of Destiny pursues thee still
Eager to light on thee with instant doom
If once that army move toward the town
Of ancient Thebes,—the town; no dearer name,
‘City’ or ‘Country’ shall beseem thy lip
Till ye both fall, stained with fraternal gore.
Long since I launched that curse against you twain
Which here again I summon to mine aid,
That ye may learn what duty children owe
To a parent, nor account it a light thing
That ye were cruel sons to your blind sire.
These maidens did not so. Wherefore my curse
Prevails against thy prayer for Thebè’s throne,
If ancient Zeus, the eternal lawgiver,
Have primal Justice for his counsellor.
Begone, renounced and fatherless for me,
And take with thee, vilest of villanous men,
This imprecation:—Vain be thine attempt
In levying war against thy father’s race,
Frustrate be thy return to Argos’ vale:
Die foully by a fratricidal hand,
And foully slay him who hath banished thee!
Further, I bid the horror-breathing gloom
Tartárean, of the vault that holds my sire,