THE PHŒNICIAN MAIDENS.
89
Oedipus.
Lo, daughter, I pass on:
Thou guide me, hapless one.
Antigone.
Hapless I am—thou sayest well—
Above all maids in Thebes that dwell.
Oedipus.
Where shall I plant mine old feet now?
Reach me my staff, O daughter thou.
Antigone.
Hitherward, hitherward, tread:1720
Let thy feet follow hither mine hand,
O strengthless as dream of the night!
Oedipus.
Ah thou who on wretchedest exile hast sped
The old man forth of his fatherland!
Ah woes I have borne! Ah horror's height!
Antigone.
Thou hast borne?—thou hast borne?—doth Justice regard not then
The sinner? Requiteth she not the follies of men?
Oedipus.
Lo, I am he on breath
Of song upraised to heaven,
When that dark riddle of the Maid of Death1730
To me to read was given.
