CR. A random troop of robbers, meeting him, Outnumbered and o'erpowered him. So 'twas told. OED. What robber would have ventured such a deed, If unsolicited with bribes from hence? CR. We thought of that. But Laius being dead, We found no helper in our miseries. OED. When majesty was fallen, what misery Could hinder you from searching out the truth? CR. A present trouble had engrossed our care. The riddling Sphinx compelled us to observe The moment's grief, neglecting things unknown. OED. But I will track this evil to the spring And clear it to the day. Most worthily Doth great Apollo, worthily dost thou Prompt this new care for the unthought of dead. And me too ye shall find a just ally, Succouring the cause of Phoebus and the land. Since, in dispelling this dark cloud, I serve No indirect or distant claim on me, But mine own life, for he that slew the king May one day turn his guilty hand 'gainst me With equal rage. In righting Laius, then, I forward mine own cause.--Now, children, rise From the altar-steps, and lift your suppliant boughs, And let some other summon to this place All Cadmus' people, and assure them, I Will answer every need. This day shall see us Blest with glad fortune through God's help, or fallen. PR. Rise then, my children. Even for this we came Which our good lord hath promised of himself. Only may Phoebus, who hath sent this word, With healing power descend, and stay the plague. [_Exeunt severally_ CHORUS (_entering_). Kind voice of Heaven, soft-breathing from the height I 1 Of Pytho's opulent home to Thebe bright, What wilt thou bring to day? Ah, Delian Healer, say! My heart hangs on thy word with trembling awe: What new giv'n law, Or what returning in Time's circling round Wilt thou unfold? Tell us, immortal sound, Daughter of golden Hope, tell us, we pray, we pray! First, child of Zeus, Pallas, to thee appealing, I 2 Then to sweet Artemis, thy sister, kneeling, Who with benignant hand Still guards our sacred land, Throned o'er the circling mart that hears her praise, And thou, whose rays Pierce evil from afar, ho! come and save, Ye mighty three! if e'er before ye drave The threatening fire of woe from Thebe, come to day! For ah! the griefs that on me weigh II 1 Are numberless; weak are my helpers all, And thought finds not a sword to fray This hated pestilence from hearth or hall. Earth's blossoms blasted fall: Nor can our women rise From childbed after pangs and cries; But flocking more and more Toward the western shore, Soul after soul is known to wing her flight, Swifter than quenchless flame, to the far realm of Night.