CR.  I will gainsay nought of what thou utterest here. 
But once in Thebes, I too shall know my course.

THE.  Threaten, but go!  Thou, Oedipus, remain
In quietness and perfect trust that I,
If death do not prevent me, will not rest
Till I restore thy children to thy hand.

CHORUS. 
  Soon shall the wheeling foes I 1
Clash with the din of brazen-throated War. 
  Would I were there to see them close,
Be the onset near or far! 
Whether at Daphne’s gorge to Phoebus dear,
  Or by the torch-lit shore
Where kind maternal powers for evermore
Guard golden mysteries of holy fear
  To nourish mortal souls
Whose voice the seal of silent awe controls
Imprinted by the Eumolpid minister. 
  There, on that sacred way,
  Shall the divinest head
Of royal Theseus, rouser of the fray,
And those free maids, in their two squadrons led,
  Meet in the valorous fight
  That conquers for the right.

  Else, by the snow-capped rock, I 2
Passing to westward, they are drawing nigh
The tract beyond the pasture high
  Where Oea feeds her flock. 
The riders ride, the rattling chariots flee
  At racing speed.—­’Tis done! 
He shall be vanquished.  Our land’s chivalry
  Are valiant, valiant every warrior son
  Of Theseus.—­On they run? 
Frontlet and bridle glancing to the light,
Forward each steed is straining to the fight,
  Forward each eye and hand
  Of all that mounted band,
Athena’s knighthood, champions of her name
And his who doth the mighty waters tame,
  Rhea’s son that from of old
  Doth the Earth with seas enfold.

Strive they?  Or is the battle still to be?  II 1
    An eager thought in me
Is pleading, ’Soon must they restore
The enduring maid, whose kinsmen vex her sore!’
To-day shall Zeus perform his will. 
The noble cause wins my prophetic skill. 
Oh! had I wings, and like a storm-swift dove
Poised on some aery cloud might there descry
    The conflict from above,
Scouring the region with mine eye!

Sovran of Heaven, all-seeing Zeus, afford II 2
    Unto this nation’s lord
Puissance to crown the fair emprise,
Thou, and all-knowing Pallas, thy dread child! 
Apollo, huntsman of the wild,
—­Thou and thy sister, who doth still pursue
Swift many-spotted stags,—­arise, arise,
With love we pray you, be our champions true! 
    Yea, both together come
To aid our people and our home!

LEADER OF CH. 
Ah! wanderer friend, thou wilt not have to accuse
Thy seer of falsehood.  I behold the maids
This way once more in safe protection brought.

OED. Where?  Is it true?  How say you?

ANT.  Father, father! 
Oh that some God would give thee once to see
The man whose royal virtue brings us hither!