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A captive still, though under earth he fled,

For, stained with blood, another after me,

Avenger stern, shall light upon his head.

Avaunt, I charge thee, leave those hallowed seats;

Depart with speed from this prophetic shrine,

Lest thou,—by wingèd glistering snake transfixed,

Shot from this golden-twisted cord,—through pain,

Shouldst vomit forth black gore, the clots disgorging

Which thou from slaughtered men hast ruthless sucked.

Thee it befits not to approach these seats,

But where head-lopping, eye-outscooping rage,

With vengeance that doth sap youth's vital powers,

Where slaughters, mutilations, stonings reign,

And where impaled, wretches with cruel throes

Groan forth their anguish. These the feasts ye love,

And therefore are ye hateful to the gods.

Your whole aspèct attests it,—such should dwell

In blood-gorged lion's den, not tarry here

Bringing pollution to these hallowed seats.

Begone, ye grisly troop, unshepherded,

For to such flock no heavenly power is kind.

Apollo lord, do thou in turn give ear;

No mere accomplice art thou in those ills;

Rather of all, sole author thou, sole cause.

How so! To greater length extend thy speech.