My rulers, who forth sent me to this place!—
Low on my knees in obeisance I fall,
After the wont of my people, O king!
Thou art come at the last—to the land of thy fathers comest thou!
What ho, queen, ho! fare forth of the hall!
Wide let the palace-portals swing.
Mother that barest him, hear'st thou my call?
Why dost thou linger to pass from thine high-roofed bowers now,
And around thy son with thine arms to cling?300
Enter Jocasta.
Jocasta.
Your Tyrian accents ringing clear
Smote, O ye maidens, on mine ear,
And lo, my tottering feet, for eld slow-trailed, draw near.
Catches sight of Polyneikes.
O my son, I behold
Thy face at the last,
After days untold,
O my son!—now cast
Thine arms round thy mother, and bosom to bosom enfold me fast.
Stoop to me, stoop,
Dear face, from above!
Let the dark head droop
The tresses thereof,
Overshadowing my neck with its clustering curls, with the banner of love.
