vv. 336–356
THE EUMENIDES
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.
Chorus.
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.
Some Furies.
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.
Chorus.
For the tale I make mine own
Is of houses overthrown,
When the Foe within the Dwelling
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