Oh may she come (a goddess hears from far),
And be my saviour from these miseries.
Chorus.
Thee nor Apollo, nor Athena's might
Can save from perishing, an outcast, spurned; 290
With heart of joy oblivious, thou shalt pine,
The Furies' blood-sucked victim, a mere shade.—
How! no reply! Dost thou contemn my words,
Thou, fattened for me, thou, my victim doomed,
Slain at no altar, but my living prey?—
Our hymn, as chain to bind thee, thou shalt hear.
[The Chorus-leader ascends the steps of the altar. The rest of the Chorus arrange themselves in the orchestra, and sing the following Strophes.]
Choral Hymn.
Haste we now the dance to wind,
Since beseems in dread refrain,
To utter how our bodeful train 300
Deal the lots to mortal kind.
Loyal are we to the Right;—
Whosoe'er clean hands extendeth,
Not on him our wrath may light,
Scathless still through life he wendeth.
But when wretch, like yonder wight,
Gory hands to hide is fain,
Blood-avengers,—for the slain
True witnesses,—still lurking near,—
His doom at length completing, we appear. 310
