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ful lust of life! Unhappy I, to have spared my brother so great a crime! Let now your walls at least abide in tranquil peace; let me not, who am still your guest, bring on you such tumult. I know—so hardly has fate dealt with me—how cruel it is, how sad to be torn from children, wife, and country; let no one’s anxious home reproach me, nor mothers fling at me sidelong glances! Gladly will I go, and resolved to die, ay, though my loyal spouse call me back, and her father’s voice^[1] once more plead with me. This life of mine I owe to Thebes, to thee, O brother, and to thee, great Tydeus!” Thus with varied speech he tries their hearts and makes dissembling prayer. His complaints stir their wrath, and they wax hot in tearful indignation; spontaneously in every heart, not only of the young, but of those whom age has made cold and slow to action, one purpose rises, to leave desolate their homes, to bring in neighbouring bands, and then to march. But the deep-counselling sire, well-versed in the government of a mighty realm: “Leave that, I pray you, to the gods and to my wisdom to set aright; thy brother shall not reign unpunished, nor are we eager to promise war. But for the present receive this noble son of Oeneus, who comes in triumph from such bloodshed, and let long-sought repose calm his warlike spirit. For our part, grief shall not lack its share of reason.”

Straightway his comrades and anxious wife bestir themselves in haste, all thronging round the way-worn and battle-weary Tydeus. Joyfully in mid-hall he takes his seat, and leans his back against a huge pillar, while Epidaurian Idmon cleanses his wounds