ORESTES. Others 'twixt hope and fear may sway, my fate Is fixed and scapeless.[n71] Like a charioteer, Dragged from his course by steeds that spurned the rein, Thoughts past control usurp me. Terror lifts, Even now, the prelude to her savage hymn, Within my heart exultant. But, while yet My sober mind remains, witness ye all My friends, this solemn abjuration! Not Unjustly, when I slew, I slew my mother-- That mother, with my father's blood polluted, Of every god abhorred. And I protest The god that charmed me to the daring point Was Loxias, with his Pythian oracles, Pledging me blameless, this harsh work once done, Not done, foredooming what I will not say; All thoughts most horrible undershoot the mark. And now behold me, as a suppliant goes, With soft-wreathed wool, and precatory branch,[n72] Addressed for Delphi, the firm-seated shrine Of Loxias, navel of earth, where burns the flame Of fire immortal named.[n73] For I must flee This kindred blood, and hie me where the god Forespoke me refuge. Once again I call On you, and Argive men of every time, To witness my great griefs. I go an exile From this dear soil. Living, or dead, I leave These words, the one sad memory of my name. CHORUS. Thou hast done well; yoke not thy mouth this day To evil words. Thou art the liberator Of universal Argos, justly greeted, Who from the dragon pair the head hath lopped. [_The_ FURIES _appear in the background_. ORESTES. Ah, me! see there! like Gorgons! look! look there! {130} All dusky-vested, and their locks entwined With knotted snakes. Away! I may not stay. CHORUS. O son, loved of thy sire, be calm, nor let Vain phantoms fret thy soul, in triumph's hour. ORESTES. These are no phantoms, but substantial horrors; Too like themselves they show, the infernal hounds Sent from my mother! CHORUS. 'Tis the fresh-gouted blood Upon thy hand, that breeds thy brain's distraction. ORESTES. Ha! how they swarm! Apollo! more--yet more! And from their fell eyes droppeth murderous gore. CHORUS. There is atonement.[n74] Touch but Loxias' altar, And he from bloody stain shall wash thee clean. ORESTES. Ye see them not. I see them.[n75] There!--Away! The hell-hounds hunt me: here I may not stay. CHORUS. Nay, but with blessing go. From fatal harm Guard thee the god whose eyes in love behold thee![n76] Blown hath now the third harsh tempest, O'er the proud Atridan palace, Floods of family woe! First thy damned feast, Thyestes, On thy children's flesh abhorrent; Then the kingly man's prostration, And thy warlike pride, Achaia, Butchered in a bath; Now he, too, our greeted Saviour Red with this new woe! When shall Fate's stern work be ended, When shall cease the boisterous vengeance, Hushed in slumbers low? [The End] THE EUMENIDES {131} A LYRICO-DRAMATIC SPECTACLE