_Chorus of Furies_: they have been long off the track, at last the 'dumb informer' is clear again, already they catch the loved scent of blood.--There he is clasping in confidence the statue of the Goddess, but watch, he escapes not: no trial, as he hopes, for the matricide; his own blood they must suck from his living members, and when they have had their fill of this drink undrinkable they will drag him down alive to bear the fate of a matricide. _Orestes not yet perceiving them continues his prayer_: long experience has taught him the various cleansing rites, and they have all been paid; he has dwelt amongst men and no impurity has been brought on them; this and all-cleansing Time show that the stain of matricide is removed, and with pure hands he can clasp Athene, queen of this land, and pledge the Argive alliance for her City [_one of the political hits of the piece_] if she will befriend him. _The Furies suddenly spring up_: Not Apollo nor Athene can save thee from thy doom! _Orestes clings convulsively to the Statue_. Thou resistest? then feel our spell! {296} _Chanting in marching rhythm they rapidly descend the Orchestra staircase, form about the Altar and then proceed to_ CHORAL SPELL (FOR ENTRY ODE) _in four Strophes and Antistrophes._ _Strophe I_ O Mother who didst bear me, mother Night, A terror of the living and the dead, Hear me, oh hear! The son of Leto puts me to disgrace And robs me of my spoil, This crouching victim for a Mother's blood: And over him as slain, We raise this chant of madness, frenzy-working, The hymn the Erinnyes love, A spell upon the soul, a lyreless strain That withers up men's strength. _Antistrophe I_ This lot the all-pervading destiny Hath spun to hold its ground for evermore, That we should still attend On him on whom there rests the guilt of blood Of kin, shed causelessly, Till earth lie o'er him; nor shall death set free. And over him as slain, We raise this chant of madness, frenzy-working, The hymn the Erinnyes love, A spell upon the soul, a lyreless strain, That withers up men's strength. {328} _Strophe II_ Such lot was then assigned us at our birth: From us the Undying Ones must hold aloof: Nor is there one who shares The banquet-meal with us; In garments white I have nor part nor lot; My choice was made for overthrow of homes, Where home-bred slaughter works a loved one's death: Ha! hunting after him, Strong though he be, 'tis ours To wear the newness of his young blood down. _Antistrophe II_