is subordinate to another half political, half religious interest arising out of the legends which connect it with the ancient glories and future prospects of Attica, and with the sanctuary of Colonus. Still the same conception which is partially unfolded in the first play is here steadily pursued, and, so far as the Theban hero is concerned, is the ruling idea. In the first scene the appearance of Œdipus presents a complete reverse of that which we witnessed at the opening of the preceding play. We now see him stript of all that then seemed to render his lot so enviable, and suffering the worst miseries to which human nature is liable. He is blind, old, destitute: an outcast from his home, an exile from his country, a wanderer in a foreign land: reduced to depend on the guidance and support of his daughter, who herself needs protection, and to subsist on the scanty pittance afforded him by the compassion of strangers, who, whenever they recognize him, view him with horror. But a change has likewise taken place within him, which compensates even for this load of affliction. In the school of adversity he has learnt patience, resignation, and content. The storm of passion has subsided, and has left him calm and firm. The cloud has rolled away from his mental vision, and nothing disturbs the clearness and serenity of his views. He not only contemplates the past in the light of truth, but feels himself instinct with prophetic powers. He is conscious of a charmed life, safe from the malice of man and the accidents of nature, and reserved by the gods for the accomplishment of high purposes. The first incident that occurs to him marks in the most signal manner the elevation to which he has been raised by his apparent fall, and the privilege he has gained by the calamity which separates him from the rest of mankind. He has been driven out of Thebes as a wretch polluted, and polluting the land. Yet he finds a resting place in the sanctuary of the awful goddesses, the avengers of crime, whose unutterable name fills every heart with horror, whose ground is too holy for any human foot to tread. For him there is no terror in the thought of them: he shrinks not from their presence, but greets them as friends and ministers of blessing. He is, as he describes himself, not only a pious but a sacred person[1].
- ↑ 287. ἥκω γὰρ ἱερὸς εὐσεβής τε.
