Ah, me! see there! like Gorgons! look! look there!
All dusky-vested, and their locks entwined
With knotted snakes. Away! I may not stay.
Chorus.
O son, loved of thy sire, be calm, nor let
Vain phantoms fret thy soul, in triumph’s hour.
Orestes.
These are no phantoms, but substantial horrors;
Too like themselves they show, the infernal hounds
Sent from my mother!