Oedipus: But tell me then, I pray,
The one thing which the gods would have me know:
Whose hands are stained with murder of the king?
Tiresias: Neither the birds can summon up the name,390
Who cleave the depths of heaven on fleeting wing,
Nor yet the vitals plucked from living breasts.
But we must seek it in another way:
The murdered king himself must be recalled
From realms of everlasting night, that thus,
Released from Erebus, he may declare