We, the dread Powers, the registrars of crime,
Whom mortals fail to soothe,
Fulfilling tasks dishonoured, unrevered,
Apart from all the Gods,
[*]In foul and sunless gloom,[[499]]
Driving o'er rough steep road both those that see,
And those whose eyes are dark.
Antistrophe IV
What mortal man then doth not bow in awe
And fear before all this,