Awake and hear—for mine own soul I cry—
Awake, ye powers of hell! the wandering ghost
That once was Clytemnestra calls—Arise.
Mutter and murmur! He hath flown afar—
My kin have gods to guard them, I have none!
O drowsed in sleep too deep to heed my pain!
Orestes flies, who me, his mother, slew.
Yelping, and drowsed again? Up and be doing
That which alone is yours, the deed of hell!
Lo, sleep and toil, the sworn confederates,
Have quelled your dragon-anger, once so fell!
The Furies (muttering more fiercely and loudly).
Seize, seize, seize, seize—mark, yonder!
Ghost.
In dreams ye chase a prey, and like some hound,
That even in sleep doth ply his woodland toil,
Ye bell and bay. What do ye, sleeping here?
Be not o'ercome with toil, nor, sleep-subdued,
Be heedless of my wrong. Up! thrill your heart
With the just chidings of my tongue,—such words
Are as a spur to purpose firmly held.
Blow forth on him the breath of wrath and blood,
Scorch him with reek of fire that burns in you,
Waste him with new pursuit—swift, hound him down.
First Fury (awaking).
Up ! rouse another as I rouse thee; up!
