Aeschylus - The Eumenides (Lines 130-180) lyrics

FURIES: Get him, get him, get him, get him - there he goes. THE GHOST OF CLYTAEMNESTRA: The prey you hunt is just a dream - like hounds mad for the sport you bay him on, you never leave the k**. But what are you doing? Up! don't yield to the labour, limp with sleep. Never forget my anguish. Let my charges hurt you, they are just; deep in the righteous heart they prod like spurs. You, blast him on with your gory breath, the fire of your vitals - wither him, after him, one last foray - waste him, burn him out! She vanishes. The lead fury urges on the pack. Leader: Wake up! I rouse you, you rouse her. Still asleep? Onto your feet, kick off your stupor. See if this prelude has some grain of truth. The furies circle, pursuing the scent with hunting calls, and cry out singly when they find Orestes gone. Furies: - Aieeeeee - no, no, no, they do us wrong, dear sisters. - The miles of pain, the pain I suffer... and all for nothing, all for pain, more pain, the anguish, oh, the grief too much to bear. - The quarry's slipped from the nets, our quarry lost and gone. - Sleep defeats me... I have lost the prey. - You - child of Zeus - you, a common thief! - Young god, you have ridden down the powers proud with age. You worship the suppliant, the godless man who tears his parent's heart - - The matricide, you steal him away, and you a god! - Guilt both ways, and who can call it justice? - Not I: her charges stalk my dreams, Yes, the charioteer rides hard, her spurs digging the vitals, under the heart, under the heaving breast - -I can feel the executioner's lash, it's searing deeper, sharper, the knives of burning ice - - Such is your triumph, you young gods, world dominion past all rights. Your throne is streaming blood, blood at the foot, blood at the crowning head - -I can see the Navelstone of the Earth, it's bleeding, bristling corruption, oh, the guilt it has to bear - Stains on the hearth! The Prophet stains the vault, he cries it on, drives on the crime himself. Breaking the god's first law, he rates men first, destroys the old dominions of the Fates. He wounds me too, yet him he'll never free, plunging under the earth, no freedom then: curst as he comes for purging, at his neck he feels new murder springing from his blood. Apollo strides from his sanctuary in full armour, brandishing his bow and driving back the furies. APOLLO: Out, I tell you, out of these halls - fast! - set the Prophet's chamber free! Seizing one of the furies, shaking an arrow across her face. Or take the flash and stab of this, this flying viper whipped from the golden cord that strings my bow!