120
THE ARGONAUTS
CHORUS,
So fearful is the wrath divine,
That once aroused it shall not sleep,
Though prostrate slaves before the shrine
Pray, praise. do sacrifice, and weep.
Ten generations following past
Shall not exhaust the curse at last.
From father unto son it flees,
An awful heritage of woe.
Wives feel its cancerous prodigies
Invade their wombs; the children know '
The inexpiable word, exhaust
Not by a tenfold holocaust.
Thus let mankind abase in fear
Their hearts, nor sacrilege profane
‘The awful slumber of the seer,
The dread adytum of the fane;
Nor gain the mockery of a fleece,
Losing reality of peace.
Hail to wild Ares! Men, rejoice
That He can thus avenge his shrine !
One solemn cadence of that voice
Peal through the ages, shake the spine
Of very Time, and plunge success
False-winged into sure-foot distress !
Hail to black Ares! Warrior, hail !
Thou glory of the shining sword !
What proven armour may avail
Against the vengeance of the Lord?
Athena’s favour must withdraw
Before the justice of thy law !
Hail to the Lord of glittering spears,
The monarch of the mighty name,
The Master of ten thousand Fears
Whose sword is as a scarlet flame !
Hail to black Ares! Wild and pale
The echo answers me: All Hail!
EXPLICIT ACTUS QUINTUS.