And I dread banquets of the night would offer
On altar-hearth, at hour no god might share.
And lo! all this is trampled under foot.
He is escaped, and flees, like fawn, away,
And even from the midst of all your toils
Has nimbly slipped, and draws wide mouth at you.
Hear ye; for I have spoken for my life;
Give heed, ye dark, earth-dwelling goddesses,
I, Clytaemnestra's phantom, call on you.
[_The Erinnyes moan in their sleep._]
Moan on, the man is gone, and flees far off;
My kindred find protectors; I find none.
[_Moan as before._]
Too sleep-oppressed art thou, nor pitiest me:
Orestes, murderer of his mother, 'scapes.
[_Noises repeated._]
Dost snort? Dost drowse? Wilt thou not rise and speed?
What have ye ever done but work out ill?
[_Noises as before._]
Yea, sleep and toil, supreme conspirators,
Have withered up the dreaded dragon's strength.

_Chorus of Furies, starting up suddenly with a yell._

Seize him, {125}
Seize, seize, yea, seize: look well to it.
_Clytaem._ Thou, phantom-like, dost hunt thy prey and criest,
Like hound that never rests from care of toil.
What dost thou? (_To one Erinnys._) Rise and let
not toil o'ercome thee,
Nor, lulled to sleep, lose all thy sense of loss.
Let thy soul (to another) feel the pain of just reproach:
The wise of heart find that their goad and spur.
And thou (to a third) breathe on him with thy
blood-flecked breath,
And with thy vapour, thy maw's fire, consume him;
Chase him, and wither with a fresh pursuit.

_Leader of the Chor._ Wake, wake, I say; wake her, as I wake thee.
Dost slumber? Rise, I say, and shake off sleep.
Let's see if this our prelude be in vain. {134}

_The Furies start up and (still on the roller-stage) perform a Fury
Dance for Prelude in three short Strophes and Antistrophes._

Our prey is gone! Apollo, ever known as a robber-god, has now
delivered a matricide fr