Sophocles Poems

Ares the destroyer drive away!
Who now, though hushed the din
Of brazen shield and spear,
With fiercest battle-cry
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A pleasant ill is this disease of love,
And 'twere not ill to sketch its likeness thus:
When sharp cold spreads through all the æther clear,
And children seize a crystal icicle,
At first they firmly hold their new-found joy;
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Not mortal men alone does Love assail,
No, nor yet women, but it leaves its stamp
Upon the souls of Gods, and passes on
To mighty ocean. Zeus omnipotent
Is powerless to avert it, and submits
And yields full willingly.
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Ah, race of mortal men,
How as a thing of nought
I count ye, though ye live;
For who is there of men
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O tomb, my bridal chamber, vaulted home.
Guarded right well for ever, where I go
To join mine own, of whom the greatest part
Among the dead doth Persephassa hold;
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If wisdom fail me not,
As seer misled by doubtful auguries,
And wanting counsel wise,
She comes, true augur with foreshadowing tread,
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Lord of the Pythian treasure,
What meaneth the word thou hast spoken?
The strange and wondrous word,
Which Thebes has heard,
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O holy light of day,
And air with earth commensurate,
Many the wailing songs,
Many the echoing blow,
On bosom stained with blood
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I know that God is ever such as this,
Darkly disclosing counsels to the wise;
But to the simple, speaking fewest words,
Plain teacher found.
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There stretcheth by the sea
A fair Eubœan shore, and o'er it creeps
The vine of Bacchus, each day's growth complete.
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