Page:The Dramas of Aeschylus (Swanwick).djvu/227

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Oh mother, hear me, Mother Night,

Who brought me forth, a living dread,

To scare the living and the dead,

Latona's son does me despite;—

Stealing away my trembling prey,

Destined a mother's murder to requite.

Thus o'er the victim chant we our refrain,

Frenzy's dread carol, madness-fraught,

The Furies' hymn, from Hades brought,

Soul-binding, lyreless, mortal-blighting strain.

For Fate unswerving span, that we

This office hold for evermore:—

Mortals imbrued with kindred gore

We chase, till under earth they flee;

And when in death they yield their breath,

Not e'en in realm of Hades are they free.

Thus o'er the victim chant we our refrain,

Frenzy's dread carol, madness-fraught,

The Furies' hymn, from Hades brought,

Soul-binding, lyreless, mortal-blighting strain.

For even at birth Fate assigned our career

Apart from the gods;—we approach not their sphere;

Our banquets they share not,

White garments we wear not,