With cry that greets thee, fellow-citizen,
Mother and nurse of Œdipus;
And we will on thee weave our choral dance,
As bringing to our princes glad good news.
Hail, hail! Ο Phœbos, grant that what we do
May meet thy favouring smile.
Antistroph.
Who was it bore thee, child,[1]
Of Nymphs whose years are long,
Or drawing near the mighty Father, Pan, 1100
Who wanders o'er the hills,
Or Loxias' paramour,
Who loves the high lawns of the pasturing flocks?
Or was it He who rules
Kyllene's height; or did the Bacchic god,
Whose dwelling is upon the mountain peaks,
Receive thee, gift of Heliconian nymphs,
With whom He loves to sport?
Œdip. If I must needs conjecture, who as yet 1110
Ne'er met the man, I think I see the shepherd,
Whom this long while we sought for. In his age
He this man matches. And I see besides,
My servants bring him. Thou perchance can'st speak
From former knowledge yet more certainly.
Chorus. I know him, king, be sure; for this man stood,
If any, known as Laios' herdsman true.
Enter Shepherd.
Œdip. Thee first I ask, Corinthian stranger, say,
Is this the man?
- ↑ The Chorus, thinking only of the wonder of Œdipus's birth, plays with the conjecture that he is the offspring of the Gods, of Pan, the God of the hills, or Apollo, the prophet God, or Hermes, worshipped on Kyllene in Arcadia; or Bacchos, roaming on the highest peaks of Parnassos. The Heliconian nymphs are, of course, the Muses.
