What lands are these, or what the folk whose gates
We have attained? Who shall receive to-day
With stinted alms the wanderer Œdipus?—
Asking but little; than that little still
Obtaining less; and yet enough for me.
For my afflictions and the weight of years
And something, too, of my own dignity
Teach me contentment. If you see, my child,
Some resting-place, either by sacred grove
Or secular dwelling, stay me and set me down,
That we may find out in what place we are;
For strangers from inhabitants to learn
We are come hither; and what we hear, to do it.

Covering a city, I perceive, afar;
This place, as I suppose, is consecrate;
It blooms with laurel, olive and the vine;²¹
Thick-flying nightingales within it warble;
Here stretch thy limbs, upon this rough-hewn stone;
For thou art aged to have come so far.

(Whose eyesight serves both for herself and me)
Of your approach, an apt intelligencer
Of things we cannot guess—

Come from that seat; you trespass on a place
No foot may desecrate.

From touch or dwelling: the dread Goddesses
Hold it, the daughters of the Earth and Gloom.

They would be called the All-seeing Favourers;
Other fit names elsewhere.

With mercy me their supplicant; and I
From this land’s harbour will go forth no more!

Inhabited by dread Poseidon;²² next
The Deity that brought fire abides in it,
Titan Prometheus;²³ this same spot you press
They call the Brass-paved Causeway²⁴ of the land—
Rampart of Athens; the adjoining farms
Boast them Colonus²⁵ mounted on his horse
For their chief patron, and the people all
Are called by and in common bear his name.
These are the facts, sir stranger; honoured not
So much in story, as cherished on the spot.

(Since you are worshipful to look upon,
Saving God’s hand;) stay there where I first found you,
While I go tell this to the burghers round,
(Here, not in the city;) they will soon decide
If you shall tarry, or depart once more. [Exit.

First in your sanctuary I seated me,
To Phœbus,²⁶ as to me, turn no deaf ear,
Who, prophesying of those my many woes,
Spake of this respite for me at the last
That when my journey ended, in a land
Where I should find asylum, at the shrine
Of awful Powers, and hospitality,
There I should round the goal of my life-sorrow,
There dwell, a blessing to my hosts—a curse
To those who sent me into banishment;
Giving me rede a sign of this should come,
In earthquake, thunder, or lightning out of heaven.
Now I perceive it is from none but you,
The faithful omen that has guided me
Along my pathway hither to this grove.
Else I should never in my wayfaring
Have met you first so fitly—strangers you
To wine,²⁷ as I am—or have taken seat
Upon this awful footstone, all unhewn.
Now therefore, Goddesses, bestow on me,
According to Apollo’s oracle,
Some passing, some quick finish of my life;
If I appear not still unperfected
In my continual servitude of toils,
The extremest mortals know. Come, you kind daughters
Of ancient Gloom! Come, thou that bear’st the name
Of mightiest Pallas,²⁸ Athens, first of cities,
Have pity upon this miserable ghost
Of what was Œdipus! He is not now
Such as of old.