Has vanished.--Whom, O father, dost thou flee? 215 _Oedipus:_ Myself I flee, I flee this heart of mine, Full of all crimes; I flee this hand, this sky, These gods; I flee those dreadful sins which I, Though innocent, have done. And can it be That this fair world, whence bounteous harvests spring, Is trod by such as I? This wholesome air Do I with pestilential lips inhale, 220 With water quench my thirst, or any gift Of kindly earth enjoy? And do I dare, This impious, incestuous, curséd wretch, To touch thy maiden hand? Have I still ears To hear the name of parent or of son? 225 Oh, that with rending hands I might destroy These narrow ways of sound by which I hear The words of men. My child, all sense of thee, Who art a parcel of my impious deeds, In my unhappiness I would have fled. 230 But now my crime sticks fast within my heart, And threatens ever to break out afresh; For what my blinded eyes have spared to me, Is through my ears poured in upon my soul. Oh, why do I not plunge this darkened life Into the eternal shadow-world of Dis? Why do I longer hold my spirit here? 235 Why be a burden to the upper world, And wander still among the living men? What evil yet remains? My fatherland, My parents, children, valor--all are lost, And that illustrious glory of the mind; Yea, evil chance hath stripped me of my all. Tears yet remained, but these with my own hand 240 Have I destroyed. Then go thy ways, my child. My soul will not give ear to any prayers, And only seeks new punishment for crime, And equal to my sin--if that can be. While yet an infant was I doomed to death. What mortal ever drew so hard a fate? Ere I had seen the light, while still confined 245 Within the darksome prison of the womb, I was a thing of dread. The night of death Lays hold on many at the hour of birth, And snatches them away from dawning life; But death anticipated birth in me. Some are o'ertaken by untimely fate While still within the womb, yet without sin. 250 But I, yet hid within the hold of life, While yet my very being was in doubt, Was by the heavenly oracle compelled To answer to a charge unspeakable. My sire condemned me at Apollo's word, And through my tender ankles thrust a rod Still glowing from the forge; then sent his child Into the forest deep, a prey for beasts 255 And all the savage birds Cithaeron breeds, Accustomed to be stained with royal blood. Yet him, whom God condemned, who by his sire Was cast away to die, death also fled. And Delphi's oracle have I fulfilled: For I with impious hand assailed my sire, 260 And slew him. [_With bitter irony_] Yet, for this impiety,