THE PHŒNICIAN MAIDENS.
87
Antigone.
Is it not then my due to share thine ills?1690
Oedipus.
'Twere a maid's shame,—exile with her blind sire!
Antigone.
Nay, but—so she be wise—her glory, father.
Oedipus.
That I may touch thy mother, guide me now.
Antigone.
Lo, touch her with thine hand—so old, so dear!
Oedipus.
Ah mother! Ah, most hapless helpmeet mine!1695
Antigone.
Piteous she lies, with all ills crowned at once.
Oedipus.
Eteokles' corse, and Polyneikes'—where?
Antigone.
Here lie they, each by other's side outstretched.
Oedipus.
Lay my blind hand upon their ill-starred brows.
Antigone.
Lo there: touch with thine hand thy children slain.1700
