h serpents.
In rapid dialogue the _Chorus_ bid him cling to the idea of Apollo, and
he _bursts away through Distance-Door on Left_ to commence his long
career of wanderings. The Chorus conclude:

Here, then, upon this palace of our kings
A third storm blows again;
The blast that haunts the race has run its course.
First came the wretched meal of children's flesh;
Next what befel our king:
Slain in the bath was he who ruled our host,
Of all the Achaeans lord;
And now a third has come, we know not whence,
To save . . . or shall I say,
To work a doom of death?
Where will it end? Where will it cease at last,
The mighty Ate dread,
Lulled into slumber deep?

THIRD PLAY: AFTERNOON:

THE GENTLE GODDESSES

EUMENIDES[1]

_The Scene represents the Oracle of Delphi: the Central Doors being the
Gate of the 'Adytum,' or Innermost shrine. From the left Inferior Door
enter the Priestess of the Oracle, who stands in front of the Central
Gate, to offer the Morning Prayer._

PROLOGUE

The _Priestess's_ Prayer enumerates the Deities who have connection
with the Ancient Oracle, how Apollo is its main guardian, after it has
passed through many hands; other Deities have a share in it, even Zeus
the Supreme Accomplisher. Praying that her divinations that day may
excel even her past, she calls on the Pilgrims to come as the lot
permits. {28}

_Exit through the Main Gate into the Inner Shrine. In a moment she
returns, pale and disordered, flinging open the Central Gates, through
which can dimly be discerned dreadful forms in the Inner Shrine._

She can hardly stand for the terror of the sight she has seen; the
sacred shrine polluted by the presence of a man in suppliant garb,
bunch of olives and tufts of wool, his sword yet reeking with a recent
murder; and sitting round about him yet more dreaded beings.

A troop {46}
Of women strange to look at sleepeth there
Before this wanderer, seated on their stools;
Not women they, but Gorgons I must call them;
Nor yet can I to Gorgon forms compare them;
I have seen painted shapes that bear away
The feast of Phineus. Wingless, though, are these,
And swarth, and every way abominable.
They snort with breath that none may dare