_Oedipus_: Now night has fled; and with a wavering gleam Returns the sun; all wrapped in murky clouds His beams arise, and with their baleful light Shall soon look forth upon our stricken homes, And day reveal the havoc of the night. 5 Oh, who in all this realm is glad? O fate, That seemest good, how many ills lie hid Behind thy smiling face! As lofty peaks Most feel the winds' abuse; and as the cliff, That with its rocky front divides the deep, The waves of e'en a quiet sea assail; 10 So is the loftiest power the most exposed To hostile fate's assaults. 'Twas well conceived That I should flee the kingdom of my sire, Old Polybus, and from my fears be freed, A homeless exile, dauntless, wandering. Be heaven and all the gods my witnesses, I chanced upon this realm. Yet even now The dreadful fear remains that by my hand 15 My sire shall die. Thus spoke the Delphic god. And still another, greater sin he showed. And can there be a blacker crime than this, A father slain? Oh, cursed impiety! 'Twere shame to tell the hideous oracle: For Phoebus warned me of my father's couch, 20 And impious wedlock. 'Twas the fear of this That drove me headlong from my father's realm, And for no sin I left my native land. All self-distrustful did I well secure Thy sacred laws, O mother Nature; still, 25 When in the heart a mighty dread abides, Though well assured it cannot be fulfilled, The fear remains. I fear exceedingly, Nor can I trust myself unto myself. And even now the fates are aimed at me. For what am I to think, when this fell pest, Although it lays its blighting hand on all, 30 Spares me alone? For what new horror now Am I reserved? Amidst my city's woes, 'Mid funeral pyres that ever must be wet With tears of grief afresh, 'mid heaps of slain, I stand unscathed. And couldst thou hope that thou, A culprit at the bar of God, shouldst gain 35 For guilt a wholesome kingdom in return? Nay, rather, I myself infect the air. For now no breeze with its soft breath relieves Our spirits suffocating with the heat; No gentle zephyrs breathe upon the land; But Titan with the dog-star's scorching fires Doth parch us, pressing hard upon the back 40 Of Nemea's lion. From their wonted streams The waters all have fled, and from the herbs Their accustomed green. Now Dirce's fount is dry; While to a trickling rill Ismenus' flood Hath shrunk, and barely laves the naked sands. Athwart the sky doth Phoebus' sister glide With paling light, and, 'mid the lowering clouds, 45 The darkling heavens fade. No starlight gleams Amid the gloomy silence of the night, But heavy mists brood low upon the earth;