The monster had propofed t' affrighted Thebes
A strange ænigma, which who could unfold
Shou'd fave his country; if he fail'd, must dye.
Reluctant we obey'd the hard decree.
Inftant the gen'ral voice aloud proclaim'd
The kingdom his reward, who, by the gods
Infpir'd, fhou'd first unveil the mystery.
The aged and the wife, by hope misled,
With fruitlefs fcience brav'd the monster's rage;
Vain knowledge all! all try'd, and trying fell,
Till Oedipus, the heir to Corinth's throne,
Endow'd with wisdom far above his years,
Fearlefs, and led by fortune, came, beheld,
Unfolded all, and took the great reward;
Lives ftill, and reigns o'er Thebes; but reigns, alas!
O'er dying fubjects, and a desert land.
Vainly we hoped to fee the wayward fates
Chain'd to his throne, and yielding to the hand
Of Oedipus, our great deliverer.
A little time the gods propitious smiled,
And blefs'd us with a gleam of tranfient peace;
But barrennefs and famine foon deftroy'd
Our airy hopes: ills heap'd on ills fucceed,
A dreadful plague unpeoples half the realms
Of fickly Thebes, fnatching the poor remains
Juft 'fcap'd from famine and the grave: high heav'n
Hath thus ordain'd, and fuch our hapless fate.
But fay, illuftrious hero, whom the gods.
Have long approv'd, fay, wherefore hast thou left
The paths of glory, and the fmiles of fortune,
To feek the regions of affliction here?
I come to join my forrows and my tears,
For know the world with me hath loft its best
And nobleft friend: ne'er shall these eyes behold
The offspring of the gods, like them unconquer'd,
Earth's best support, the guardian deity
Of innocence opprefs'd: I mourn a friend,
The world a father.
Thefe hands perform'd the melancholy office,
Laid on his fun'ral pile the firft of men;
Th' all-conquering arrows, thofe dear dreadful gifts The fon of Jove bequeath'd me, have I brought, With his cold afhes, here, where I will raise
A tomb and altars to my valued friend.
O! had he liv'd! had but indulgent heav'n,
In pity to mankind, prolong'd his days,
Far from Jocasta I had still remain’d;
And, tho' I might have cherish'd still my vain
And hopeless paffion, had not wander'd here,
Or left Alcides for a woman's love.
Oft have I pity'd thy unhappy flame,
Caught in thy earliest youth, increasing ftill
And growing with thy growth: Jocafta, forc'd
By a hard father to a hateful bed,
Unwillingly partook the throne of Laius.
Alas! what tears thofe fatal nuptials coft,
What forrows have they brought on wretched Thebes!
How have I oft admir'd thy noble foul,
Worthy of empire! conqu'ror o'er thyself :
There first the hero fhone, repress'd his paffion,
And the first tyrant he subdued was love.
There we must fly to conquer; I confess it :
Long time I ftrove, I felt my weakness long;
At length refolv'd to fhun the fatal place,
I took a last farewell of my Jocafta.
The world then trembled at Alcides' name,
And on his valour did fufpend their fate;
I join'd the god-like man, partook his toils,
March'd by his fide, and twin'd his laurel wreath
Round my own brows: then my enlighten'd foul
Against the paffions arm'd, and rofe fuperior.
A great man's friendship is the gift of heav'n.
In him I read my duty and my fate;
I bound myself to virtue and to him:
My valour strengthen'd, and my heart improv❜d,
Not hardened, I became like my Alcides.
What had I been without him! a king's fon,
A common prince, the flave of ev'ry paffion,
Which Hercules hath taught me to fubdue.
But he is worthy he who fav'd a kingdom.
Alone can merit her, and heav'n is just.
He comes, and with him his affembled people;
Lo! the high-priest attends: this way they bend,
To deprecate the wrath of angry heav'n.
It melts my foul; I weep for their misfortunes.
O Hercules, from thy eternal feat
Look down on thy afflicted country! hear
Thy fellow citizens! O hear thy friend,
Who joins his pray'rs, and be their guardian god!
FIRST PERSON OF THE CHORUS.
Ye blafting pow'rs, who wafte this wretched empire, And breath contagion, death, and horrors round us, O quicken your flow wrath, be kind at last,
And urge our ling'ring fate.
SECOND PERSON OF THE CHORUS.
Strike, ftrike, ye gods,
Your victims are prepar'd; ye mountains, fall!
Crufh us, ye heav'ns! O death, deliver us,
And we fhall thank you for the boon.
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