near.

OEDIPUS.

It falls on me then. I will search and clear
This darkness.--Well hath Phoebus done, and thou
Too, to recall that dead king, even now,
And with you for the right I also stand,
To obey the God and succour this dear land.
Nor is it as for one that touches me
Far off; 'tis for mine own sake I must see
This sin cast out. Whoe'er it was that slew
Laius, the same wild hand may seek me too:
And caring thus for Laius, is but care
For mine own blood.--Up! Leave this altar-stair,
Children. Take from it every suppliant bough.
Then call the folk of Thebes. Say, 'tis my vow
To uphold them to the end. So God shall crown
Our greatness, or for ever cast us down.

[_He goes in to the Palace._

PRIEST.

My children, rise.--The King most lovingly
Hath promised all we came for. And may He

[Sidenote: vv. 149-161]

Who sent this answer, Phoebus, come confessed
Helper to Thebes, and strong to stay the pest.

[_The suppliants gather up their boughs and
stand at the side. The chorus of Theban
elders enter._

CHORUS.

[_They speak of the Oracle which they have not
yet heard, and cry to_ APOLLO _by his
special cry "I-e."_

A Voice, a Voice, that is borne on the Holy Way!
What art thou, O Heavenly One, O Word of the Houses of Gold?
Thebes is bright with thee, and my heart it leapeth; yet is it cold,
And my spirit faints as I pray.
I-e! I-e!
What task, O Affrighter of Evil, what task shall thy people essay?
One new as our new-come affliction,
Or an old toil returned with the years?
Unveil thee, thou dread benediction,
Hope's daughter and Fear's.

[_They pray to_ ATHENA, ARTEMIS, _and_
APOLLO.

Zeus-Child that knowest not death, to thee I pray,
O Pallas; next to thy Sister, who calleth Thebes her own,
Artemis, named of Fair Voices, who sitteth her orbed throne
In the throng of the market way:

[Sidenote: vv. 162-189]

And I-e! I-e!
Apollo, the Pure, the Far-smiter; O Three that keep evil away,
If of old for our city's desire,
When the death-cloud hung close to her brow,
Ye have banished the wound and the fire,
Oh! come to us now!

[_They tell of the Pestilence._

Wounds beyond telling; my people sick unto death;
And where is the counsellor, where is the sword of thought?