end men's bodies in the winds of Thrace.
This house shall give him welcome good, and he
Shall wrest this woman from thy worms and thee.
So thou shalt give me all, and thereby win
But hatred, not the grace that might have been.
[_Exit_ APOLLO.]

THANATOS.
Talk on, talk on! Thy threats shall win no bride
From me.--This woman, whatsoe'er betide,
Shall lie in Hades' house. Even at the word
I go to lay upon her hair my sword.
For all whose head this grey sword visiteth
To death are hallowed and the Lords of death.

[THANATOS _goes into the house. Presently, as the day grows lighter,
the_ CHORUS _enters: it consists of Citizens of Pherae, who speak
severally._]

CHORUS.

LEADER.
Quiet, quiet, above, beneath!

SECOND ELDER.
The house of Admetus holds its breath.

THIRD ELDER.
And never a King's friend near,
To tell us either of tears to shed
For Pelias' daughter, crowned and dead;
Or joy, that her eyes are clear.
Bravest, truest of wives is she
That I have seen or the world shall see.

DIVERS CITIZENS, _conversing_.
(The dash -- indicates a new speaker.)

--Hear ye no sob, or noise of hands
Beating the breast? No mourners' cries
For one they cannot save?
--Nothing: and at the door there stands
No handmaid.--Help, O Paian; rise,
O star beyond the wave!

--Dead, and this quiet? No, it cannot be.
--Dead, dead!--Not gone to burial secretly!

--Why? I still fear: what makes your speech so brave?
--Admetus cast that dear wife to the grave
Alone, with none to see?

--I see no bowl of clear spring water.
It ever stands before the dread
Door where a dead man rests.
--No lock of shorn hair! Every daughter
Of woman shears it for the dead.
No sound of bruised breasts!

--Yet 'tis this very day ...--This very day?
--The Queen should pass and lie beneath the clay.
--It hurts my life, my heart!--All honest hearts
Must sorrow for a brightness that departs,
A good life worn away.

LEADER.
To wander o'er leagues of land,
To search over wastes of sea,
Where the Prophets of Lycia stand,
Or where Ammon's daughters three
Make runes in the rainless sand,
For magic to make her free--
Ah, vain! for the end is here;
Sudden it comes and sheer.
What lamb on the altar-strand
Stricken shall comfort me?

SECOND ELDER.
Only, only one, I know:
Apollo's son was he,
Who healed men long ago.
Were he but