APOLLO But I will stand beside him; ’tis for me To guard my suppliant: gods and men alike Do dread the curse of such an one betrayed, And in me Fear and Will say _Leave him not_. [_Exeunt omnes_ _The scene changes to Athens. In the foreground, the Temple of Athena on the Acropolis; her statue stands in the centre; Orestes is seen clinging to it._ ORESTES Look on me, queen Athena; lo, I come By Loxias’ behest; thou of thy grace Receive me, driven of avenging powers— Not now a red-hand slayer unannealed, But with guilt fading, half-effaced, outworn On many homes and paths of mortal men. For to the limit of each land, each sea, I roamed, obedient to Apollo’s hest, And come at last, O Goddess, to thy fane, And clinging to thine image, bide my doom. [_Enter the Chorus of Furies, questing like hounds_ CHORUS Ho! clear is here the trace of him we seek: Follow the track of blood, the silent sign! Like to some hound that hunts a wounded fawn, We snuff along the scent of dripping gore, And inwardly we pant, for many a day Toiling in chase that shall fordo the man; For o’er and o’er the wide land have I ranged, And o’er the wide sea, flying without wings, Swift as a sail I pressed upon his track, Who now hard by is crouching, well I wot, For scent of mortal blood allures me here. Follow, seek him—round and round Scent and snuff and scan the ground, Lest unharmed he slip away, He who did his mother slay! Hist—he is there! See him his arms entwine Around the image of the maid divine— Thus aided, for the deed he wrought Unto the judgment wills he to be brought. It may not be! a mother’s blood, poured forth Upon the stainèd earth, None gathers up: it lies—bear witness, Hell!— For aye indelible! And thou who sheddest it shalt give thine own That shedding to atone! Yea, from thy living limbs I suck it out, Red, clotted, gout by gout,— A draught abhorred of men and gods; but I Will drain it, suck thee dry; Yea, I will waste thee living, nerve and vein; Yea, for thy mother slain, Will drag thee downward, there where thou shalt dree The weird of agony! And thou and whatsoe’er of men hath sinned— Hath wronged or God, or friend, Or parent,—learn ye how to all and each The arm of doom can reach! Sternly requiteth, in the world beneath, The judgment-seat of Death; Yea, Death, beholding every man’s endeavour Recordeth it for ever.