Page:Eumenides (Murray 1925).djvu/37

vv. 336–356

Spun the thread:

Whenso mortal man in sin

'Brueth hand against his kin,

Mine till death He wandereth,

And freedom never more shall win,

Not when dead.

But our sacrifice to bind,

Lo, the music that we wind,

How it dazeth and amazeth

And the will it maketh blind,

As it moves without a lyre

To the throb of my desire;

'Tis a chain about the brain,

'Tis a wasting of mankind.

Since the hour we were begot

Of this rite am I the priest;

Other gods may share it not;

Nor is any man nor beast

That dare eat the food we eat

Nor among us take his seat;

For no part have I nor lot

In the white robe of the feast.

For the tale I make mine own

Is of houses overthrown,

When the Foe within the Dwelling

Slays a brother and is flown: