Page:Eumenides (Murray 1925).djvu/23

vv. 41–67 Earthward in desperate prayer; blood on his hand

Yet reeking, and a naked new-drawn brand

Wreathed in beseeching wool, a suppliant's weed

Of snow-white fleece so much mine eyes could read.

But out in front of him a rout unknown

Of women sleepeth, flung from throne to throne,

Women? Nay, never women! Gorgons more:

And yet not like the Gorgon shapes of yore.

I saw a picture once of woman things

That ravished Phineus' banquet. But no wings

Have these; all shadows, black, abominable.

The voices of their slumber rise and swell,

Back-beating, and their eyes drop gouts of gore.

Their garb, it is no garb to show before

God's altar nor the hearths of human kind.

I cannot read what lineage lies behind

These shapes, nor what land, having born such breed,

Hath trembled not before and shall not bleed

Hereafter. Let Apollo great in power

Take to his care the peril of this hour:

Being Helper, Prophet, Seer of things unseen,

The stainèd hearth he knoweth to make clean.

I fail thee not. For ever more I stay,

Or watching at thy side or far away,

Thy guard, and iron against thine enemies.

Even now my snares have closèd upon these.