Sophocles, the Seven Plays in English verse/King Oedipus

For other English-language translations of this work, see Oedipus Rex (Sophocles).

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Aias

Sophocles, the Seven Plays in English verse (1906)
by Sophocles, translated by Lewis Campbell

King Oedipus

Electra

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See also the end notes on this translation.

Sophocles4575984Sophocles, the Seven Plays in English verse — King Oedipus1906Lewis Campbell

Layout 2

KING OEDIPUS

THE PERSONS

Oedipus, King of Thebes.

Priest of Zeus.

Creon, brother of Jocasta.

Chorus of Theban Elders.

Tiresias, the Blind Prophet.

Jocasta, the Queen, sister to Creon.

A Corinthian Shepherd.

A Theban Shepherd.

Messenger.

The following also appear, but do not speak:

A Train of Suppliants.

The children Antigone and Ismene.

Scene. Before the Royal Palace in the Cadmean citadel of Thebes.

Laius, the descendant of Cadmus, and king of Thebes (or Thebè), had been told by an oracle that if a son were born to him by his wife Jocasta the boy would be his father’s death.

Under such auspices Oedipus was born, and to elude the prophecy was exposed by his parents on Mount Cithaeron. But he was saved by a compassionate shepherd, and became the adopted son of Polybus, king of Corinth. When he grew up he was troubled by a rumour that he was not his father’s son. He went to consult the oracle of Apollo at Delphi, and was told—not of his origin but of his destiny—that he should be guilty of parricide and incest.

He was too horror-stricken to return to Corinth, and as he travelled the other way, he met Laius going from Thebes to Delphi. The travellers quarrelled and the son killed his father, but knew not whom he had slain. He went onward till he came near Thebes, where the Sphinx was making havoc of the noblest citizens, devouring all who failed to solve her riddle. But Oedipus succeeded and overcame her, and, as Laius did not return, was rewarded with the regal sceptre,—and with the hand of the queen.

He reigned nobly and prosperously, and lived happily with Jocasta, by whom he had four children.

But after some years a plague descended on the people, and Apollo, on being inquired of, answered that it was for Laius’ death. The act of regicide must be avenged. Oedipus undertakes the task of discovering the murderer,—and in the same act discovers his own birth, and the fulfilment of both the former prophecies.

Jocasta hangs herself, and Oedipus in his despair puts out his eyes.

KING OEDIPUS

Oedipus—Priest of Zeus

(with the Train of Suppliants grouped before an altar).

Oedipus. Nurslings of Cadmus, children of my care,
Why press ye now to kneel before my gate
With sacred branches in those suppliant hands,
While o’er your city clouds of incense rise
And sounds of praise, mingling with sounds of woe?
I would not learn of your estate, my sons,
Through others; wherefore I myself am come,
Your Oedipus,—a name well known to men.
Speak, aged friend, whose look proclaims thee meet
To be their spokesman:—What desire, what fear
Hath brought you? Doubt not of my earnest will
To lend all succour. Hard would be the heart
That looked unmoved on such a kneeling throng.

Priest. Great ruler of my country, thou beholdest
The different ages of our flock who here
Are gathered round thine altar;—some, whose wing
Hath not yet ventured far from home; and some
Burdened with many years, priests of the Gods,
Myself the arch-priest of Zeus; and these fresh youths,
A chosen few. Others there are who crowd
The holy agora and the temples twain
Of Pallas, and Ismenus’ hallowed fires,
A suppliant host. For, as thyself perceivest,
Our city is tempest-tost, and all too weak
To lift above the waves her weary prow
That plunges in a rude and ravenous sea.
Earth’s buds are nipped, withering the germs within;
Our cattle lose their increase, and our wives
Have fruitless travail; and that scourge from Heaven,
The fiery Pestilence abhorred of men,
Descending on our people with dire stroke
Lays waste the Home of Cadmus, while dark Death
Wins ample tribute of laments and groans.
We kneel, then, at thy hearth; not likening thee
Unto the gods, I nor these children here,
But of men counting thee the first in might
Whether to cope with earthly casualty
Or visiting of more than earthly Power.
Thou, in thy coming to this Theban land,
Didst take away the hateful tax we paid
To that stern songstress,—aided not by us
With hint nor counsel, but, as all believe,
Gifted from heaven with life-restoring thought.
Now too, great Oedipus of matchless fame,
We all uplift our suppliant looks to thee,
To find some help for us, whether from man,
Or through the prompting of a voice Divine.
Experienced counsel, we have seen and know,
Hath ever prosperous issue. Thou, then, come,
Noblest of mortals, give our city rest
From sorrow! come, take heed! seeing this our land
Now calls thee Saviour for thy former zeal;
And ’twere not well to leave this memory
Of thy great reign among Cadmean men,
‘He raised us up, only again to fall.’
Let the salvation thou hast wrought for us
Be flawless and assured! As once erewhile
Thy lucky star gave us prosperity,
Be the same man to-day. Wouldst thou be king
In power, as in command, ’tis greater far
To rule a people than a wilderness.
Since nought avails or city or buttressed wall
Or gallant vessel, if unmanned and void.

Oed. Ye touch me to the core. Full well I know
Your trouble and your desire. Think not, my sons,
I have no feeling of your misery!
Yet none of you hath heaviness like mine.
Your grief is held within the single breast
Of each man severally. My burdened heart
Mourns for myself, for Thebè, and for you.
Your coming hath not roused me from repose:
I have watched, and bitterly have wept; my mind
Hath travelled many a labyrinth of thought.
And now I have tried in act the only plan
Long meditation showed me. I have sent
The brother of my queen, Menoeceus’ son,
Creon, to learn, in Phoebus’ Delphian Hall,
What word or deed of mine may save this city.
And when I count the time, I am full of pain
To guess his speed; for he is absent long,
Beyond the limit of expectancy.
But when he shall appear, base then were I
In aught to disobey the voice of Heaven.

Pr. Lo, in good time, crowning thy gracious word,
’Tis told me by these youths, Creon draws near.

Oed. Apollo! may his coming be as blest
With saving fortune, as his looks are bright.

Pr. Sure he brings joyful news; else had he ne’er
Worn that full wreath of thickly-berried bay.

Oed. We have not long to doubt. He can hear now.

Enter Creon.

Son of Menoeceus, brother of my queen,
What answer from Apollo dost thou bring?

Creon. Good; for my message is that even our woes,
When brought to their right issue, shall be well.

Oed. What saith the oracle? Thy words so far
Neither embolden nor dishearten me.

Cr. Say, must I tell it with these standing by,
Or go within? I am ready either way.

Oed. Speak forth to all. The burden of their grief
Weighs more on me than my particular fear.

Cr. My lips shall utter what the God hath said.
Sovereign Apollo clearly bids us drive
Forth from this region an accursed thing
(For such is fostered in the land and stains
Our sacred clime), nor cherish it past cure.

Oed. What is the fault, and how to be redressed?

Cr. By exile, or by purging blood with blood.
Since blood it is that shakes us with this storm.

Oed. Whose murder doth Apollo thus reveal?

Cr. God alone can let thee go.

Oed. But the Gods long since abhor me.

Cr. Thou wilt sooner gain that boon.

Oed. Then consent.

Cr. ’Tis not my wont to venture premises too soon.

Oed. Lead me now within the palace.

Cr. Come, but leave thy children.

Oed. Nay!
Tear not these from my embraces!

Cr. Hope not for perpetual sway:
Since the power thou once obtainedst ruling with unquestioned might
Ebbing from thy life hath vanished ere the falling of the night.

Leader of Chorus.

Dwellers in our native Thebè, fix on Oedipus your eyes,
Who resolved the dark enigma, noblest champion and most wise.
Like a star his envied fortune mounted beaming far and wide:
Now he sinks in seas of anguish, whelmed beneath a raging tide.
Therefore, with the old-world sages, waiting for that final day,
I will call no mortal happy, while he holds his house of clay,
Till without one pang of sorrow, all his hours have passed away.

Sophocles, the Seven Plays in English verse/King Oedipus

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