The Eumenides quotes

blood on his hand Yet reeking, and a naked new-drawn brand Wreathed in beseeching wool, a suppliant’s weed Of snow-white fleece … so much mine eyes could read. But out in front of him a rout unknown Of women sleepeth, flung from throne to throne.

Women? Nay, never women! Gorgons more:

And yet not like the Gorgon shapes of yore. … I saw a picture once of woman things That ravished Phineus’ banquet. But no wings Have these; all shadows, black, abominable.

there is none Cares for a mother murdered by her son. Open thine heart to see this gash!—She shows the wound in her throat.

In sleep The heart hath many eyes and can see deep: ’Tis daylight makes man’s fate invisible.

Oft of my bounty ye have lapt your fill; Oft the sad peace of wineless cups to earth I have poured, and midmurk feastings on your hearth Burned, when no other god draws near to eat.

Wake! … What task have ye To do on earth save to work misery? Groaning. Can sleep and weariness so well conspire To drain the fell she-dragon of her fire? Sharp repeated muttering: then words “At him! At him! Catch, catch, catch! Ah, beware!”

Ah, hunting in your dreams, and clamorous yet, Tired bloodhounds that can sleep but not forget!

How now? Awake! Be strong! And faithful keep Thy lust of pain through all the drugs of sleep. Thou feelst my scorn? Aye, feel and agonize Within; such words are scourges to the wise. Thy blood-mist fold about him, like a doom.

Thou spakest and this man his mother slew.

I spoke, and he avenged his father. True.

Thou stoodest by, to accept the new-shed gore.

Ha! Here he has passed. Spot reeketh upon spot.

Blood is a spy that points and babbles not.

Like hounds that follow some sore-wounded fawn, We smell the way that blood and tears are gone, And follow.—Oh, my belly gaspeth sore With toils man-wasting; I can chase no more.

He will not swear, nor challenge me to swear.

Which wouldst thou, to seem righteous, or to be?

What meanst thou there? Speak out thy subtlety.

Vainly cry in sore despite, “Help, ye Watchers on your throne, Help, O Right!” Many a father so shall cry, Many a mother, new in pain; Their vain sobbing floateth by: “The great House is fallen again! Law shall die!” —

Times there be when Fear is good, And the Watcher in the breast Needs must reign in masterhood.

Aye, ’tis best Through much straitening to be wise. Who that hath no fear at all In the sunlight of his eyes, Man or City, but shall fall From Right somewise?

Ye worms of hate, O ye that Gods abhor, Bonds can be loosened; there is cure therefor, And many and many a plan in God’s great mind To free the prisoners whom he erst did bind.

But once the dust hath drunk the blood of men Murdered, there is no gathering it again.

For that no magic doth my Father know, Though all things else he changeth high and low Or fixeth, and no toil is in his breath.

With mire and evil influx ye can flaw Fair water till no lips may drink thereof. I charge you, citizens, enfold and love That spirit that nor anarch is nor thrall; And casting away Fear, yet cast not all;

For who that hath no fear is safe from sin?

That Fear which is both Ruth and Law within Be yours, and round your city and your land Shall be upraised a rampart, yea, a hand Of strong deliverance, which no sons of men, From the Isle of Pelops to the Scythian fen, Possess nor …

My breath is as a fire flung far and wide, And a strange anguish stabbeth at my side. Hear thou my wrath, O Mother, Night, mine own, Hear what these young false-handed gods have wrought!

Mine immemorial honour is overthrown, And I am naught!

Thine heaviness myself will help thee bear. Older thou art than I, and surely ware Of wisdom that I wot not: yet also To me Zeus giveth both to think and know.

Let her who hungereth still for wrong, Faction, in Athens ne’er again Lift on the air her ravening song; Let not the dust of Pallas’ Plain Drink the dark blood of any son By fury of revenge fordone.

Rage not to smite the smiter, lest By rage the City’s heart be torn:

Bless him that blesseth: in each breast So shall a single love be born, And ’gainst Her foes a single hate. This also maketh firm a state.