Unwearied we pursue; no pity checks our course; still on and on,
to the end of life, we give him no peace nor rest." Thus the
Eumenides sang, and moved in solemn cadence, while stillness like
the stillness of death sat over the whole assembly as if in the
presence of superhuman beings; and then in solemn march completing
the circuit of the theatre, they passed out at the back of the
stage.
Every heart fluttered between illusion and reality, and every
breast panted with undefined terror, quailing before the awful
power that watches secret crimes and winds unseen the skein of
destiny. At that moment a cry burst forth from one of the
uppermost benches--"Look! look! comrade, yonder are the cranes of
Ibycus!" And suddenly there appeared sailing across the sky a dark
object which a moment's inspection showed to be a flock of cranes
flying directly over the theatre. "Of Ibycus! did he say?" The
beloved name revived the sorrow in every breast. As wave follows
wave over the face of the sea, so ran from mouth to mouth the
words, "Of Ibycus! him whom we all lament, whom some murderer's
hand laid low! What have the cranes to do with him?" And louder
grew the swell of voices, while like a lightning's flash the
thought sped through every heart, "Observe the power of the
Eumenides! The pious poet shall be avenged! the murderer has
informed against himself.
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