Page:The Dramas of Aeschylus (Swanwick).djvu/213

Rh Let them, as custom is, approach by lot,

For as the god doth guide, I prophesy.

Things dire to tell, direful for eyes to see,

Have forced me from the fane of Loxias,

So that no strength I have, no power to move;

But lacking speed of limb, with hands I run;

For age, when scared, is nought; a very child.

Towards the wreath-encircled nook I creep,

And at earth's navel-stone, behold a man

Defiled before the gods, as suppliant,

Holding his seat;—his hands still dripping gore,

His sword new-drawn, his lofty olive-branch

With ample fillets piously enwreathed,

White bands of wool;—for so I speak it plain.

But lo! before this man, on seats reclined,

A wondrous company of women sleeps;

Women? nay, Gorgons let me say; nor yet

To Gorgonean types compare I them.

Ere now in paintings [Harpies] I have seen,

Snatching the meal of Phineus. These to sight

Are wingless, black, and loathsome utterly.

With breathings unapproachable they snore,

Forth from their eyes drippeth a loathsome rheum;

Their garb too vile the effigies to touch

Of gods immortal, or the roofs of men.

Tribe of this sisterhood I ne'er have seen;

Neither may region boast such brood to rear