That I should prove a guilty parricide?
My father’s dead, ye meant but to deceive me;
These hands are not polluted with his blood:
The slave of error, I have wandered long
In darkness, busied in a fruitless toil,
And to remove imaginary ills,
Have made my life a scene of real woes,
The offspring of my fond credulity.
How deep must be the color of my fate
When miseries like this can bring relief!
Bliss spring from sorrow, and a father’s death
Shall be accepted as the gift of heaven!
But I must hence, and to his ashes pay
The tribute due:—ha! silent, and in tears!
icarus.
Ought I to speak? O heaven!
œdipus.
Hast thou aught more
Of ill to tell me?
icarus.
For a moment grant me
Your private ear.
œdipus.
Retire.—[To the attendants.
What can this mean?
icarus.
Think not of Corinth: thither, if thou goest,
Thy death is certain.
œdipus.
Who shall banish me
From my own kingdom?
icarus.
To the throne of Corinth
Another heir succeeds.
œdipus.
Ye gods! is this
The last sad stroke which I am born to suffer,
Or will ye still pursue me? Fate, go on
And persecute, thou shalt not conquer me:
Let us away to my rebellious subjects,
I’ll go to be their scourge, if not their king,
And find at least an honorable death.
But say, what stranger has usurped my throne?
icarus.
He is the son-in-law of Polybus,
Who on his head did place the diadem
In his last moments; the obedient people
Hail their new sovereign.
œdipus.
Has my father too
Betrayed me, sided with my faithless subjects,
And drove me from my throne?
icarus.
He did but justice,
For thou wert not his son.
œdipus.
Ha! Icarus!
icarus.
With terror and regret I must reveal
The dreadful secret, Corinth—
œdipus.
Not his son!
icarus.
Thou art not. Polybus, oppressed by conscience,
Dying declared it; to the royal blood
Of Corinth’s kings he yielded up his throne:
I who alone enjoyed his confidence,
And therefore dreaded the new sovereign’s power,
Fled to implore thy aid.
œdipus.
Who am I then,
If not the son of Polybus?
icarus.
The gods,
Who trusted to my hands thy infant years,
In shades of darkest night conceal thy birth;
I only know, that soon as born condemned
To death, and on a desert hill exposed,
Thou but for me hadst perished.
œdipus.
Thus with life
Began my sorrows, a detested object
Even from my cradle, and accursed by all.
Where didst thou light on me?
icarus.
On mount Citheron,
œdipus.
Near Thebes?
icarus.
In that deserted place, a Theban,
Who called himself thy father, left thee; there
To perish: some kind God conducted me
That way; I pitied, took thee in my arms,
Revived, and cherished thee: to Corinth then
Carried my little charge, and to the king
Presented thee; who, mark thy wondrous fate!
His child just dead, adopted thee his son,
And by that stroke of policy confirmed
His tottering power: As son of Polybus
Thou wert brought up by him who had preserved thee:
The throne of Corinth never was thy right,
But conscience robbed thee of what chance bestowed.
œdipus.
Immortal powers, who rule the fate of kings!
Am I thus doomed in one unhappy day
To suffer such variety of woe!
On a frail mortal shall your miracles
Be thus exhausted! But inform me, friend,
This old man, from whose hands you took me, say,
Hast thou beheld him since that fatal hour?
icarus.
Never: perhaps he’s dead, he who alone
Could tell thee the strange secret of thy birth;
But on my mind his image is engraved
So deeply, I should know him well.
œdipus.
Alas!
Wretch that I am! why should I wish to find him?
Rather, submissive to the will of heaven
Should I keep close the veil that o’er my eyes
Spreads its benignant shade: too well already
I see my fate; more knowledge would but show
New horrors; and yet, spite of all my woes,
Urged on by fatal curiosity,
I thirst for more: I cannot bear to rest
In sad suspense: to doubt is to be wretched:
I dread the torch that lights me to my ruin:
I fear to know myself, yet cannot long
Remain unknown.
SCENE III.
œdipus,