Up and after him, Io!
While the blood is still a-flow,
Though his strength be full and swelling,
We shall waste him, flesh from bone!
Other Furies.
Would they take thee from the care
We have guarded thee withal?
Would the Gods disown our prayer
Till no Law be left at all?
Yea, because of blood that drips
As aforetime from our lips,
And the world's hate that we bear,
God hath cast us from His hall!
Chorus.
I am on them as they fly,
With a voice out of the sky,
And my armèd heel is o'er them
To fall crashing from on high.
There be fliers far and fast,
But I trip them at the last,
And my arms are there before them,
And shall crush them ere they die!
Divers Furies.
—The glories of Man that were proud where the sunlight came,
Below in the dark are wasted and cast to shame;
For he trembles at the hearing
Of the Black Garments nearing,
And the beating of the feet, like flame.
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