Receive on earth so richly, as from him
Bereaved of whom ye now shall live forlorn.’ 
Such was the talk, mingled with sobs and crying,
As each clung fast to each.  But when they came
To an end of weeping and those sounds were stilled,
First all was silent; then a sudden voice
Hurried him onward, making each man’s hair
Bristle on end with force of instant fear. 
Now here, now there, not once but oftentimes,
A God called loudly, ’Oedipus, Oedipus! 
Why thus delay our going?  This long while
We are stayed for and thou tarriest.  Come away!’
He, when he knew the summons of the God,
Gave word for royal Theseus to go near;
And when he came, said:  ’Friend for ever kind,
Reach thy right hand, I pray thee (that first pledge)
To these my children:—­daughters, yours to him!—­
And give thy sacred word that thou wilt never
Betray these willingly:  but still perform
All that thou mayest with true thought for their good.’ 
He, with grand calmness like his noble self,
Promised on oath to keep this friendly bond. 
And when he had done so, Oedipus forthwith
Stroking his children with his helpless hands
Spake thus:—­’My daughters, you must steel your hearts
To noble firmness, and depart from hence,
Nor ask to see or hear forbidden things. 
Go, go at once!  Theseus alone must stay
Sole rightful witness of these mysteries.’ 
Those accents were the last we all might hear. 
Then, following the two maids, with checkless tears
And groans we took our way.  But by and by,
At distance looking round, we saw,—­not him,
Who was not there,—­but Theseus all alone
Holding his hand before his eyes, as if
Some apparition unendurable
Had dazed his vision.  In a little while,
We marked him making reverence in one prayer
To the Earth, and to the home of Gods on high. 
But by what fate He perished, mortal man,
Save Theseus, none can say.  No lightning-flash
From heaven, no tempest rising from the deep,
Caused his departure in that hour, but either
Some messenger from heaven, or, from beneath,
The lower part of Earth, where comes no pain,
Opening kindly to receive him in. 
Not to be mourned, nor with a tearful end
Of sickness was he taken from the Earth,
But wondrously, beyond recorded fate. 
If any deem my words unwise, I care not
In that man’s judgement to be counted wise.

CH.  Where are those maidens and their escort?  Say.

MESS.  They are not far off, but here.  The voice of weeping
Betokens all too plainly their approach.

ANT.  Alas! 
How manifold, the inheritance of woe
Drawn from the troubled fountain of our birth! 
Indelible, ineradicable grief! 
For him erewhile
We had labour infinite and unrelieved,
And now in his last hour we have to tell
Of sights and sorrows beyond thought.

CH.  How then?