A captive still, though under earth he fled,
For, stained with blood, another after me,
†Avenger stern, shall light upon his head.
Apollo.
Avaunt, I charge thee, leave those hallowed seats; 170
Depart with speed from this prophetic shrine,
Lest thou,—by wingèd glistering snake transfixed,
Shot from this golden-twisted cord,—through pain,
Shouldst vomit forth black gore, the clots disgorging
Which thou from slaughtered men hast ruthless sucked.
Thee it befits not to approach these seats,
But where head-lopping, eye-outscooping rage,
With vengeance that doth sap youth's vital powers,
Where slaughters, mutilations, stonings reign, 180
And where impaled, wretches with cruel throes
Groan forth their anguish. These the feasts ye love,
And therefore are ye hateful to the gods.
Your whole aspèct attests it,—such should dwell
In blood-gorged lion's den, not tarry here
Bringing pollution to these hallowed seats.
Begone, ye grisly troop, unshepherded,
For to such flock no heavenly power is kind.
Chorus.
Apollo lord, do thou in turn give ear;
No mere accomplice art thou in those ills; 190
Rather of all, sole author thou, sole cause.
Apollo.
How so! To greater length extend thy speech.
