Till earth lie o'er him; nor shall death set free.
And over him as slain,
We raise this chant of madness, frenzy-working,
The hymn the Erinnyes love,
A spell upon the soul, a lyreless strain
That withers up men's strength.
Strophe II
Such lot was then assigned us at our birth:
From us the Undying Ones must hold aloof:
330