That guest-like, there assembled came?
From Theseus' town, from Aulis' strand--
From Phocis, from the Spartans' land--
From Asia's wave-divided clime,
The Isles that gem the Ægean Sea,
To hearken on that Stage Sublime,
The Dark Choir's mournful melody!

True to the awful rites of old,
In long and measured strides, behold
The Chorus from the hinder ground,
Pace the vast circle's solemn round.
So this World's women never strode--
Their race from Mortals ne'er began;
Gigantic, from their grim abode,
They tower above the Sons of Man!

Across their loins the dark robe clinging,
In fleshless hands the torches swinging,
Now to and fro, with dark red glow--
No blood that lives the dead cheeks know!
Where flow the locks that woo to love
On _human_ temples--ghastly dwell
The serpents, coil'd the brow above,
And the green asps with poison swell.

Thus circling, horrible, within
That space--doth their dark hymn begin,
And round the sinner as they go,
Cleave to the heart their words of woe.