Moan on, but he is vanished and forgot.
So strong the prayers of them that love me not!
[Moaning.
Too sound ye sleep—And have ye for the dead
No pity? . . . And my son, my murderer, fled!
[Groaning.
Ye groan; ye slumber. 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.
Waste him with vapour from thy burning womb.
A second chase is death! . . . Pursue! Pursue!
[The Ghost vanishes as the Furies gradually wake.
Leader of the Furies.
Awake! Quick, waken her as I wake you!
Thou sleepest? Rise; cast slumber from thy brain
And search. Is our first hunt so all in vain?
6
