Wingless, though, are these,
And swarth, and every way abominable.
They snort with breath that none may dare approach,
And from their eyes a loathsome humour pours,
And such their garb as neither to the shrine
Of Gods is meet to bring, nor mortal roof.
Ne'er have I seen a race that owns this tribe,
Nor is there land can boast it rears such brood,
Unhurt and free from sorrow for its pains.
Henceforth, be it the lot of Loxias,
Our mighty lord, himself to deal with them:
True prophet-healer he, and portent-seer,
And for all others cleanser of their homes. {63}
_At her word, in the entrance of the Inner Shrine appears Apollo with
Hermes, and they lead Orestes out._
_Apollo_ will never fail his suppliant; it is he who has sent sleep on
these loathly Beings, born out of evils, with whom neither Gods nor men
hold intercourse. They will still pursue, but he must fly to the
ancient City of Pallas and clasp her statue; there 'judges of these
things' and 'a means' will be found to rid him of his evils.
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