Stroph. II.
Chor. Ah! ah! again the crash
Rolls piercingly around.
Be pitiful, Ο God, be pitiful,
If thou bring'st darkness on our mother-land;1480
And may I find thee gracious evermore,
Nor, looking on a man accursèd, reap
A boon that profits not.
King Zeus, I call on thee!
Œdip. Is your chief near? And will he find me, children,
Still living, still with wonted powers of mind?
Antig. What secret would'st thou to his soul confide?
Œdip. I would fain give the good I promised him,
Some poor return for all that I received.1490
Antistroph. II.
Chor. Come, come, my son, come quick,
*Though on the valley's edge
*Thou consecrat'st the hearth for sacrifice
To Ocean's lord, Poseidon, come thou quick;
For lo! the stranger fain would give to thee,
Thy city, and thy friends, just meed of thanks
For kind acts done. Come, haste,
Haste onward, Ο my king.
Enter Theseus.
Thes. What means this mingled din? For lo! full plain,1500
My subjects' voice, and clear the stranger's too.
Is it the thunderbolt of Zeus, or shower
Of hail bursts on you? When Heaven sends storm like this,
All wild conjectures seem most probable.
