Unsanctified and godlessly forlorn.
Such violence the powers beneath will bear
Not even from the Olympian gods. For thee
The avengers wait. Hidden but near at hand,
Lagging but sure, the Furies of the grave
Are watching for thee to thy ruinous harm,
With thine own evil to entangle thee.
Look well to it now whether I speak for gold!
A little while, and thine own palace-halls
Shall flash the truth upon thee with loud noise
Of men and women, shrieking o’er the dead.
And all the cities whose unburied sons,
Mangled and torn, have found a sepulchre
In dogs or jackals or some ravenous bird
That stains their incense with polluted breath,
Are forming leagues in troublous enmity.
Such shafts, since thou hast stung me to the quick,
I like an archer at thee in my wrath
Have loosed unerringly—carrying their pang,
Inevitable, to thy very heart.
Now, sirrah! lead me home, that his hot mood
Be spent on younger objects, till he learn
To keep a safer mind and calmer tongue. [Exit
Ch. Sire, there is terror in that prophecy.
He who is gone, since ever these my locks,
Once black, now white with age, waved o’er my brow,
Hath never spoken falsely to the state.
Cr. I know it, and it shakes me to the core.
To yield is dreadful: but resistingly
To face the blow of fate, is full of dread.
Ch. The time calls loud on wisdom, good my lord.
Cr. What must I do? Advise me. I will obey.
Ch. Go and release the maiden from the vault,
And make a grave for the unburied dead.
Cr. Is that your counsel? Think you I will yield?
Ch. With all the speed thou mayest: swift harms from heaven
With instant doom o’erwhelm the froward man.
Cr. Oh! it is hard. But I am forced to this
Against myself. I cannot fight with Destiny.
