That choral band which chants in full accord,
Yet no good music; good is not their theme.
And now, as having drunk men's blood,[[366]] and so
Grown wilder, bolder, see, the revelling band,
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Erinnyes of the race, still haunt the halls,
Not easy to dismiss. And so they sing,
Close cleaving to the house, its primal woe,[[367]]
And vent their loathing in alternate strains
On marriage-bed of brother ruthless found