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SCENE FROM THE EUMENDIES.
The Furies' Hymn, whose numbers roll
Like harsh stern fetters o'er the soul,
And waste the mortal wretch away,
Spirit and frame, in slow decay!

This is the curse by Fate ordain'd
Its chains around the man to wind,
Whose hands with kindred blood are stain'd
No succour may the doom'd-one find
Thus must he suffer, till he die
And sink among the shades below;
Nor may he then from judgment fly,
His death is no release from woe.

O'er our victim raise the strain,
To smite and warp the jarring brain,
To sway the will, the thoughts to bind,
To light up madness in the mind
The Furies' Hymn, whose numbers roll
Like harsh stern fetters o'er the soul,
And waste the mortal wretch away,
Spirit and frame, in slow decay!

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