Cried out at me that I was no true son Of Polybus. Oh, I was wroth! That one Day I kept silence, but the morrow morn I sought my parents, told that tale of scorn And claimed the truth; and they rose in their pride And smote the mocker.... Aye, they satisfied All my desire; yet still the cavil gnawed My heart, and still the story crept abroad. At last I rose--my father knew not, nor My mother--and went forth to Pytho's floor To ask. And God in that for which I came Rejected me, but round me, like a flame, His voice flashed other answers, things of woe, Terror, and desolation. I must know My mother's body and beget thereon A race no mortal eye durst look upon, And spill in murder mine own father's blood. I heard, and, hearing, straight from where I stood, No landmark but the stars to light my way, Fled, fled from the dark south where Corinth lay, To lands far off, where never I might see My doom of scorn fulfilled. On bitterly I strode, and reached the region where, so saith Thy tale, that King of Thebes was struck to death.... Wife, I will tell thee true. As one in daze I walked, till, at the crossing of three ways, A herald, like thy tale, and o'er his head A man behind strong horses charioted Met me. And both would turn me from the path, He and a thrall in front. And I in wrath Smote him that pushed me--'twas a groom who led The horses. Not a word the master said, [Sidenote: vv. 808-828] But watched, and as I passed him on the road Down on my head his iron-branched goad Stabbed. But, by heaven, he rued it! In a flash I swung my staff and saw the old man crash Back from his car in blood.... Then all of them I slew. Oh, if that man's unspoken name Had aught of Laius in him, in God's eye What man doth move more miserable than I, More dogged by the hate of heaven! No man, kin Nor stranger, any more may take me in; No man may greet me with a word, but all Cast me from out their houses. And withal 'Twas mine own self that laid upon my life These curses.--And I hold the dead man's wife In these polluting arms that spilt his soul.... Am I a thing born evil? Am I foul In every vein? Thebes now doth banish me, And never in this exile must I see Mine ancient folk of Corinth, never tread The land that bore me; else my mother's bed Shall be defiled, and Polybus, my good Father, who loved me well, be rolled in blood. If one should dream that such a world began In some slow devil's heart, that hated man, Who should deny him?--God, as thou art clean, Suffer not this, oh, suffer not this sin To be, that e'er I look on such a day! Out of all vision of mankind away To darkness let me fall ere such a fate Touch me, so unclean and so desolate! [Sidenote: vv. 829-850] LEADER. I tremble too, O King; but till thou hear From him who saw, oh, let hope conquer fear. OEDIPUS.