The ancestral curse, the hoary doom is ripe.
Who now shall smooth such hate?
What hand shall stay, when it hath willed to strike,
The uplifted arm of Fate?
When the ship creaks beneath the straining gale,
The wealthy merchant[f18] flings the well-stowed bale
Into the gulf below.[f19]
ANTISTROPHE IV.
When the enigma of the baleful Sphynx
By Oedipus was read,