{"id":27,"date":"2017-06-24T20:36:19","date_gmt":"2017-06-24T20:36:19","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/chapter\/the-medea-of-euripides-iii\/"},"modified":"2017-07-05T21:40:56","modified_gmt":"2017-07-05T21:40:56","slug":"the-medea-of-euripides-iii","status":"web-only","type":"chapter","link":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/chapter\/the-medea-of-euripides-iii\/","title":{"raw":"The Medea of Euripides III","rendered":"The Medea of Euripides III"},"content":{"raw":"

Aegeus<\/h3>\r\n
How, who gives the bride? Say on.<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Creon, who o'er all Corinth standeth chief.<\/div>\r\n

Aegeus<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Woman, thou hast indeed much cause for grief.<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
'Tis ruin.\u2014And they have cast me out as well.<\/div>\r\n

Aegeus<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Who? 'Tis a new wrong this, and terrible.<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Creon the king, from every land and shore. . . .<\/div>\r\n

Aegeus<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
And Jason suffers him? Oh, 'tis too sore!<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
He loveth to bear bravely ills like these!\r\nBut, Aegeus, by thy beard, oh, by thy knees,\r\nI pray thee, and I give me for thine own,\r\nThy suppliant, pity me! Oh, pity one\r\nSo miserable. Thou never wilt stand there\r\nAnd see me cast out friendless to despair.\r\nGive me a home in Athens . . . by the fire\r\nOf thine own hearth! Oh, so may thy desire\r\nOf children be fulfilled of God, and thou\r\nDie happy! . . . Thou canst know not; even now\r\nThy prize is won! I, I will make of thee\r\nA childless man no more. The seed shall be,\r\nI swear it, sown. Such magic herbs I know.<\/div>\r\n

Aegeus<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Woman, indeed my heart goes forth to show\r\nThis help to thee, first for religion's sake,\r\nThen for thy promised hope, to heal my ache\r\nOf childlessness. 'Tis this hath made mine whole\r\nLife as a shadow, and starved out my soul.\r\nBut thus it stands with me. Once make thy way\r\nTo Attic earth, I, as in law I may,\r\nWill keep thee and befriend. But in this land,\r\nWhere Creon rules, I may not raise my hand\r\nTo shelter thee. Move of thine own essay\r\nTo seek my house, there thou shalt alway stay,\r\nInviolate, never to be seized again.\r\nBut come thyself from Corinth. I would fain\r\nEven in foreign eyes be alway just.<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
'Tis well. Give me an oath wherein to trust\r\nAnd all that man could ask thou hast granted me.<\/div>\r\n

Aegeus<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Dost trust me not? Or what thing troubleth thee?<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
I trust thee. But so many, far and near,\r\nDo hate me\u2014all King Pelias' house, and here\r\nCreon. Once bound by oaths and sanctities\r\nThou canst not yield me up for such as these\r\nTo drag from Athens. But a spoken word,\r\nNo more, to bind thee, which no God hath heard. . .\r\nThe embassies, methinks, would come and go:\r\nThey all are friends to thee. . . . Ah me, I know\r\nThou wilt not list to me! So weak am I,\r\nAnd they full-filled with gold and majesty.<\/div>\r\n

Aegeus<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Methinks 'tis a far foresight, this thine oath.\r\nStill, if thou so wilt have it, nothing loath\r\nAm I to serve thee. Mine own hand is so\r\nThe stronger, if I have this plea to show\r\nThy persecutors: and for thee withal\r\nThe bond more sure.\u2014On what God shall I call?<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Swear by the Earth thou treadest, by the Sun,\r\nSire of my sires, and all the gods as one. . . .<\/div>\r\n

Aegeus<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
To do what thing or not do? Make all plain.<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Never thyself to cast me out again.\r\nNor let another, whatsoe'er his plea,\r\nTake me, while thou yet livest and art free.<\/div>\r\n

Aegeus<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Never: so hear me, Earth, and the great star\r\nOf daylight, and all other gods that are!<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
'Tis well: and if thou falter from thy vow . . . ?<\/div>\r\n

Aegeus<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
God's judgment on the godless break my brow!<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Go! Go thy ways rejoicing.\u2014All is bright\r\nAnd clear before me. Go: and ere the night\r\nMyself will follow, when the deed is done\r\nI purpose, and the end I thirst for won.<\/div>\r\n

[Aegeus<\/span> and his train depart<\/i>.]<\/p>\r\n\r\n

Chorus<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Farewell: and Maia's guiding Son\r\nBack lead thee to thy hearth and fire,\r\nAegeus; and all the long desire\r\nThat wasteth thee, at last be won:\r\nOur eyes have seen thee as thou art,\r\nA gentle and a righteous heart.<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
God, and God's Justice, and ye blinding Skies!\r\nAt last the victory dawneth! Yea, mine eyes\r\nSee, and my foot is on the mountain's brow.\r\nMine enemies! Mine enemies, oh, now\r\nAtonement cometh! Here at my worst hour\r\nA friend is found, a very port of power\r\nTo save my shipwreck. Here will I make fast\r\nMine anchor, and escape them at the last\r\nIn Athens' wall\u00e8d hill.\u2014But ere the end\r\n'Tis meet I show thee all my counsel, friend:\r\nTake it, no tale to make men laugh withal!\r\nStraightway to Jason I will send some thrall\r\nTo entreat him to my presence. Comes he here,\r\nThen with soft reasons will I feed his ear,\r\nHow his will now is my will, how all things\r\nAre well, touching this marriage-bed of kings\r\nFor which I am betrayed\u2014all wise and rare\r\nAnd profitable! Yet will I make one prayer,\r\nThat my two children be no more exiled\r\nBut stay. . . . Oh, not that I would leave a child\r\nHere upon angry shores till those have laughed\r\nWho hate me: 'tis that I will slay by craft\r\nThe king's daughter. With gifts they shall be sent,\r\nGifts to the bride to spare their banishment,\r\nFine robings and a carcanet of gold.\r\nWhich raiment let her once but take, and fold\r\nAbout her, a foul death that girl shall die\r\nAnd all who touch her in her agony.\r\nSuch poison shall they drink, my robe and wreath!\r\nHowbeit, of that no more. I gnash my teeth\r\nThinking on what a path my feet must tread\r\nThereafter. I shall lay those children dead\u2014\r\nMine, whom no hand shall steal from me away!\r\nThen, leaving Jason childless, and the day\r\nAs night above him, I will go my road\r\nTo exile, flying, flying from the blood\r\nOf these my best-beloved, and having wrought\r\nAll horror, so but one thing reach me not,\r\nThe laugh of them that hate us.\r\nLet it come!\r\nWhat profits life to me? I have no home,\r\nNo country now, nor shield from any wrong.\r\nThat was my evil hour, when down the long\r\nHalls of my father out I stole, my will\r\nChained by a Greek man's voice, who still, oh, still,\r\nIf God yet live, shall all requited be.\r\nFor never child of mine shall Jason see\r\nHereafter living, never child beget\r\nFrom his new bride, who this day, desolate\r\nEven as she made me desolate, shall die\r\nShrieking amid my poisons. . . . Names have I\r\nAmong your folk? One light? One weak of hand?\r\nAn eastern dreamer?\u2014Nay, but with the brand\r\nOf strange suns burnt, my hate, by God above,\r\nA perilous thing, and passing sweet my love!\r\nFor these it is that make life glorious.<\/div>\r\n

Leader<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Since thou has bared thy fell intent to us\r\nI, loving thee, and helping in their need\r\nMan's laws, adjure thee, dream not of this deed!<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
There is no other way.\u2014I pardon thee\r\nThy littleness, who art not wronged like me.<\/div>\r\n

Leader<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Thou canst not kill the fruit thy body bore!<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Yes: if the man I hate be pained the more.<\/div>\r\n

Leader<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
And thou made miserable, most miserable?<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Oh, let it come! All words of good or ill\r\nAre wasted now.\r\n[She claps her hands: the<\/i> Nurse<\/span> comes out from the house<\/i>.]\r\nHo, woman; get thee gone\r\nAnd lead lord Jason hither. . . . There is none\r\nLike thee, to work me these high services.\r\nBut speak no word of what my purpose is,\r\nAs thou art faithful, thou, and bold to try\r\nAll succours, and a woman even as I!<\/div>\r\n

[The<\/i> Nurse<\/span> departs<\/i>.]<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n

\r\n\r\n

Chorus<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
\r\n\r\nThe sons of Erechtheus, the olden,\r\nWhom high gods planted of yore\r\nIn an old land of heaven upholden,\r\nA proud land untrodden of war:\r\nThey are hungered, and, lo, their desire\r\nWith wisdom is fed as with meat:\r\nIn their skies is a shining of fire,\r\nA joy in the fall of their feet:\r\nAnd thither, with manifold dowers,\r\nFrom the North, from the hills, from the morn,\r\nThe Muses did gather their powers,\r\nThat a child of the Nine should be born;\r\nAnd Harmony, sown as the flowers,\r\nGrew gold in the acres of corn.\r\n\r\nAnd Ceph\u00eesus, the fair-flowing river\u2014\r\nThe Cyprian dipping her hand\r\nHath drawn of his dew, and the shiver\r\nOf her touch is as joy in the land.\r\nFor her breathing in fragrance is written,\r\nAnd in music her path as she goes,\r\nAnd the cloud of her hair, it is litten\r\nWith stars of the wind-woven rose.\r\nSo fareth she ever and ever,\r\nAnd forth of her bosom is blown,\r\nAs dews on the winds of the river,\r\nAn hunger of passions unknown.\r\nStrong Loves of all godlike endeavour,\r\nWhom Wisdom shall throne on her throne.\r\n\r\n<\/div>\r\n

Some Women<\/h4>\r\n
But Ceph\u00eesus the fair-flowing,\r\nWill he bear thee on his shore?\r\nShall the land that succours all, succour thee,\r\nWho art foul among thy kind,\r\nWith the tears of children blind?\r\nDost thou see the red gash growing,\r\nThine own burden dost thou see?\r\nEvery side, Every way,\r\nLo, we kneel to thee and pray:\r\nBy thy knees, by thy soul, O woman wild!\r\nOne at least thou canst not slay,\r\nNot thy child!<\/div>\r\n

Others<\/h3>\r\n
Hast thou ice that thou shalt bind it\r\nTo thy breast, and make thee dead\r\nTo thy children, to thine own spirit's pain?\r\nWhen the hand knows what it dares,\r\nWhen thine eyes look into theirs,\r\nShalt thou keep by tears unblinded\r\nThy dividing of the slain?\r\nThese be deeds Not for thee:\r\nThese be things that cannot be!\r\nThy babes\u2014though thine hardihood be fell,\r\nWhen they cling about thy knee,\r\n'Twill be well!<\/div>\r\n

[Enter<\/em> Jason<\/span>.]<\/p>\r\n\r\n

Jason<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
I answer to thy call. Though full of hate\r\nThou be, I yet will not so far abate\r\nMy kindness for thee, nor refuse mine ear.\r\nSay in what new desire thou hast called me here.<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Jason, I pray thee, for my words but now\r\nSpoken, forgive me. My bad moods. . . . Oh, thou\r\nAt least wilt strive to bear with them! There be\r\nMany old deeds of love 'twixt me and thee.\r\nLo, I have reasoned with myself apart\r\nAnd chidden: \"Why must I be mad, O heart\r\nOf mine: and raging against one whose word\r\nIs wisdom: making me a thing abhorred\r\nTo them that rule the land, and to mine own\r\nHusband, who doth but that which, being done,\r\nWill help us all\u2014to wed a queen, and get\r\nYoung kings for brethren to my sons? And yet\r\nI rage alone, and cannot quit my rage\u2014\r\nWhat aileth me?\u2014when God sends harbourage\r\nSo simple? Have I not my children? Know\r\nI not we are but exiles, and must go\r\nBeggared and friendless else?\" Thought upon thought\r\nSo pressed me, till I knew myself full-fraught\r\nWith bitterness of heart and blinded eyes.\r\nSo now\u2014I give thee thanks: and hold thee wise<\/div>\r\n
To have caught this anchor for our aid. The fool\r\nWas I; who should have been thy friend, thy tool;\r\nGone wooing with thee, stood at thy bed-side\r\nServing, and welcomed duteously thy bride.\r\nBut, as we are, we are\u2014I will not say\r\nMere evil\u2014women! Why must thou to-day\r\nTurn strange, and make thee like some evil thing,\r\nChildish, to meet my childish passioning?\r\nSee, I surrender: and confess that then\r\nI had bad thoughts, but now have turned again\r\nAnd found my wiser mind.<\/div>\r\n
[She claps her hands<\/i>.]<\/div>\r\n
Ho, children! Run\r\nQuickly! Come hither, out into the sun,\r\n[The<\/i> Children<\/span> come from the house, followed by their<\/i> Attendant<\/span>.]\r\nAnd greet your father. Welcome him with us,\r\nAnd throw quite, quite away, as mother does,\r\nYour anger against one so dear. Our peace\r\nIs made, and all the old bad war shall cease\r\nFor ever.\u2014Go, and take his hand. . . .\r\n[As the<\/i> Children<\/span> go to<\/i> Jason<\/span>, she suddenly bursts into tears.\u00a0<\/i>The<\/i> Children<\/span> quickly return to her: she recovers herself, <\/i>smiling amid her tears<\/i>.]\r\nAh me,\r\nI am full of hidden horrors! . . . Shall it be\r\nA long time more, my children, that ye live\r\nTo reach to me those dear, dear arms? . . . Forgive!\r\nI am so ready with my tears to-day,\r\nAnd full of dread. . . . I sought to smooth away\r\nThe long strife with your father, and, lo, now\r\nI have all drowned with tears this little brow!<\/div>\r\n

[She wipes the child's face.<\/i>]<\/p>\r\n\r\n

Leader<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
O'er mine eyes too there stealeth a pale tear:\r\nLet the evil rest, O God, let it rest here!<\/div>\r\n

Jason<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Woman, indeed I praise thee now, nor say\r\nIll of thine other hour. 'Tis nature's way,\r\nA woman needs must stir herself to wrath,\r\nWhen work of marriage by so strange a path\r\nCrosseth her lord. But thou, thine heart doth wend\r\nThe happier road. Thou hast seen, ere quite the end,\r\nWhat choice must needs be stronger: which to do\r\nShows a wise-minded woman. . . . And for you,\r\nChildren; your father never has forgot\r\nYour needs. If God but help him, he hath wrought\r\nA strong deliverance for your weakness. Yea,\r\nI think you, with your brethren, yet one day\r\nShall be the mightiest voices in this land.\r\nDo you grow tall and strong. Your father's hand\r\nGuideth all else, and whatso power divine\r\nHath alway helped him. . . . Ah, may it be mine\r\nTo see you yet in manhood, stern of brow,\r\nStrong-armed, set high o'er those that hate me. . . .\r\nHow?\r\nWoman, thy face is turned. Thy cheek is swept\r\nWith pallor of strange tears. Dost not accept\r\nGladly and of good will my benisons?<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
'Tis nothing. Thinking of these little ones. . . .<\/div>\r\n

Jason<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Take heart, then. I will guard them from all ill.<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
I do take heart. Thy word I never will\r\nMistrust. Alas, a woman's bosom bears\r\nBut woman's courage, a thing born for tears.<\/div>\r\n

Jason<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
What ails thee?\u2014All too sore thou weepest there.<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
I was their mother! When I heard thy prayer\r\nOf long life for them, there swept over me\r\nA horror, wondering how these things shall be.\r\nBut for the matter of my need that thou\r\nShould speak with me, part I have said, and now\r\nWill finish.\u2014Seeing it is the king's behest\r\nTo cast me out from Corinth . . . aye, and best,\r\nFar best, for me\u2014I know it\u2014not to stay\r\nLonger to trouble thee and those who sway\r\nThe realm, being held to all their house a foe. . . .\r\nBehold, I spread my sails, and meekly go\r\nTo exile. But our children. . . . Could this land\r\nBe still their home awhile: could thine own hand\r\nBut guide their boyhood. . . . Seek the king, and pray\r\nHis pity, that he bid thy children stay!<\/div>\r\n

Jason<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
He is hard to move. Yet surely 'twere well done.<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Bid her\u2014for thy sake, for a daughters boon. . . .<\/div>\r\n

Jason<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Well thought! Her I can fashion to my mind.<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Surely. She is a woman like her kind. . . .\r\nYet I will aid thee in thy labour; I\r\nWill send her gifts, the fairest gifts that lie\r\nIn the hands of men, things of the days of old,\r\nFine robings and a carcanet of gold,\r\nBy the boys' hands.\u2014Go, quick, some handmaiden,\r\nAnd fetch the raiment.\r\n[A handmaid goes into the house.<\/i>]<\/div>\r\n
Ah, her cup shall then\r\nBe filled indeed! What more should woman crave,\r\nBeing wed with thee, the bravest of the brave,\r\nAnd girt with raiment which of old the sire\r\nOf all my house, the Sun, gave, steeped in fire,\r\nTo his own fiery race?\r\n[The handmaid has returned bearing the Gifts.<\/i>]<\/div>\r\n
Come, children, lift\r\nWith heed these caskets. Bear them as your gift\r\nTo her, being bride and princess and of right\r\nBlessed!\u2014I think she will not hold them light.<\/div>\r\n

Jason<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Fond woman, why wilt empty thus thine hand\r\nOf treasure? Doth King Creon's castle stand\r\nIn stint of raiment, or in stint of gold?\r\nKeep these, and make no gift. For if she hold\r\nJason of any worth at all, I swear\r\nChattels like these will not weigh more with her.<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Ah, chide me not! 'Tis written, gifts persuade\r\nThe gods in heaven; and gold is stronger made\r\nThan words innumerable to bend men's ways.\r\nFortune is hers. God maketh great her days:\r\nYoung and a crown\u00e8d queen! And banishment\r\nFor those two babes. . . . I would not gold were spent,\r\nBut life's blood, ere that come.\r\nMy children, go\r\nForth into those rich halls, and, bowing low,\r\nBeseech your father's bride, whom I obey,\r\nYe be not, of her mercy, cast away\r\nExiled: and give the caskets\u2014above all\r\nMark this!\u2014to none but her, to hold withal\r\nAnd keep. . . . Go quick! And let your mother know\r\nSoon the good tiding that she longs for. . . . Go!<\/div>\r\n

[She goes quickly into the house.<\/i> Jason<\/span> and the<\/i> Children<\/span> with their<\/i> Attendant<\/span> depart<\/i>.]<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n

\r\n\r\n

Chorus<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
\r\n\r\nNow I have no hope more of the children's living;\r\nNo hope more. They are gone forth unto death.\r\nThe bride, she taketh the poison of their giving:\r\nShe taketh the bounden gold and openeth;\r\nAnd the crown, the crown, she lifteth about her brow,\r\nWhere the light brown curls are clustering. No hope now!\r\n\r\nO sweet and cloudy gleam of the garments golden!\r\nThe robe, it hath clasped her breast and the crown her head.\r\nThen, then, she decketh the bride, as a bride of olden\r\nStory, that goeth pale to the kiss of the dead.\r\nFor the ring hath closed, and the portion of death is there;\r\nAnd she flieth not, but perisheth unaware.\r\n\r\n<\/div>\r\n

Some Women<\/h4>\r\n
O bridegroom, bridegroom of the kiss so cold,\r\nArt thou wed with princes, art thou girt with gold,\r\nWho know'st not, suing\r\nFor thy child's undoing,\r\nAnd, on her thou lovest, for a doom untold?\r\nHow art thou fallen from thy place of old!<\/div>\r\n

Others<\/h3>\r\n
O Mother, Mother, what hast thou to reap,\r\nWhen the harvest cometh, between wake and sleep?\r\nFor a heart unslaken,\r\nFor a troth forsaken,\r\nLo, babes that call thee from a bloody deep:\r\nAnd thy love returns not. Get thee forth and weep!<\/div>\r\n

[Enter the<\/i> Attendant<\/span> with the two<\/i> Children: Medea<\/span> comes out from the house<\/i>.]<\/p>\r\n\r\n

Attendant<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Mistress, these children from their banishment\r\nAre spared. The royal bride hath mildly bent\r\nHer hand to accept thy gifts, and all is now\r\nPeace for the children.\u2014Ha, why standest thou\r\nConfounded, when good fortune draweth near?<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Ah God!<\/div>\r\n

Attendant<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
This chimes not with the news I bear.<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
O God, have mercy!<\/div>\r\n

Attendant<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Is some word of wrath\r\nHere hidden that I knew not of? And hath\r\nMy hope to give thee joy so cheated me?<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Thou givest what thou givest: I blame not thee.<\/div>\r\n

Attendant<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Thy brows are all o'ercast: thine eyes are filled. . . .<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
For bitter need, Old Man! The gods have willed,\r\nAnd my own evil mind, that this should come.<\/div>\r\n

Attendant<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Take heart! Thy sons one day will bring thee home.<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Home? . . . I have others to send home. Woe's me!<\/div>\r\n

Attendant<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Be patient. Many a mother before thee\r\nHath parted from her children. We poor things\r\nOf men must needs endure what fortune brings.<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
\r\n\r\nI will endure.\u2014Go thou within, and lay\r\nAll ready that my sons may need to-day.\r\n[The<\/i> Attendant<\/span> goes into the house<\/i>.]\r\nO children, children mine: and you have found\r\nA land and home, where, leaving me discrowned\r\nAnd desolate, forever you will stay,\r\nMotherless children! And I go my way\r\nTo other lands, an exile, ere you bring\r\nYour fruits home, ere I see you prospering\r\nOr know your brides, or deck the bridal bed,\r\nAll flowers, and lift your torches overhead.\r\nOh curs\u00e8d be mine own hard heart! 'Twas all\r\nIn vain, then, that I reared you up, so tall\r\nAnd fair; in vain I bore you, and was torn\r\nWith those long pitiless pains, when you were born.\r\nAh, wondrous hopes my poor heart had in you,\r\nHow you would tend me in mine age, and do\r\nThe shroud about me with your own dear hands,\r\nWhen I lay cold, bless\u00e8d in all the lands\r\nThat knew us. And that gentle thought is dead!\r\nYou go, and I live on, to eat the bread\r\nOf long years, to myself most full of pain.\r\nAnd never your dear eyes, never again,\r\nShall see your mother, far away being thrown\r\nTo other shapes of life. . . . My babes, my own,\r\nWhy gaze ye so?\u2014What is it that ye see?\u2014\r\nAnd laugh with that last laughter? . . . Woe is me,\r\nWhat shall I do?\r\nWomen, my strength is gone,\r\nGone like a dream, since once I looked upon\r\nThose shining faces. . . . I can do it not.\r\nGood-bye to all the thoughts that burned so hot\r\nAforetime! I will take and hide them far,\r\nFar, from men's eyes. Why should I seek a war\r\nSo blind: by these babes' wounds to sting again\r\nTheir father's heart, and win myself a pain\r\nTwice deeper? Never, never! I forget\r\nHenceforward all I laboured for.\r\nAnd yet,\r\nWhat is it with me? Would I be a thing\r\nMocked at, and leave mine enemies to sting\r\nUnsmitten? It must be. O coward heart,\r\nEver to harbour such soft words!\u2014Depart\r\nOut of my sight, ye twain.\r\n\r\n[The<\/i> Children<\/span> go in<\/i>.]\r\nAnd they whose eyes\r\nShall hold it sin to share my sacrifice,\r\nOn their heads be it! My hand shall swerve not now.\r\n\r\nAh, Ah, thou Wrath within me! Do not thou,\r\nDo not. . . . Down, down, thou tortured thing, and spare\r\nMy children! They will dwell with us, aye, there\r\nFar off, and give thee peace.\r\nToo late, too late!\r\nBy all Hell's living agonies of hate,\r\nThey shall not take my little ones alive\r\nTo make their mock with! Howsoe'er I strive\r\nThe thing is doomed; it shall not escape now\r\nFrom being. Aye, the crown is on the brow,\r\nAnd the robe girt, and in the robe that high\r\nQueen dying.\r\nI know all. Yet . . . seeing that I\r\nMust go so long a journey, and these twain\r\nA longer yet and darker, I would fain\r\nSpeak with them, ere I go.\r\n[A handmaid brings the<\/i> Children<\/span> out again<\/i>.]\r\nCome, children; stand\r\nA little from me. There. Reach out your hand,\r\nYour right hand\u2014so\u2014to mother: and good-bye!\r\n[She has kept them hitherto at arm's length: but at the touch of their hands, her resolution breaks down, and she gathers them passionately into her arms.<\/i>]\r\n\r\nOh, darling hand! Oh, darling mouth, and eye,\r\nAnd royal mien, and bright brave faces clear,\r\nMay you be bless\u00e8d, but not here! What here\r\nWas yours, your father stole. . . . Ah God, the glow\r\nOf cheek on cheek, the tender touch; and Oh,\r\nSweet scent of childhood. . . . Go! Go! . . . Am I blind? . . .\r\nMine eyes can see not, when I look to find\r\nTheir places. I am broken by the wings\r\nOf evil. . . . Yea, I know to what bad things\r\nI go, but louder than all thought doth cry\r\nAnger, which maketh man's worst misery.\r\n\r\n<\/div>\r\n

[She follows the<\/i> Children<\/span> into the house<\/i>.]<\/p>\r\n\r\n

Chorus<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
\r\n\r\nMy thoughts have roamed a cloudy land,\r\nAnd heard a fierier music fall\r\nThan woman's heart should stir withal:\r\nAnd yet some Muse majestical,\r\nUnknown, hath hold of woman's hand,\r\nSeeking for Wisdom\u2014not in all:\r\nA feeble seed, a scattered band,\r\nThou yet shalt find in lonely places,\r\nNot dead amongst us, nor our faces\r\nTurned alway from the Muses' call.\r\n\r\nAnd thus my thought would speak: that she\r\nWho ne'er hath borne a child nor known\r\nIs nearer to felicity:\r\nUnlit she goeth and alone,\r\nWith little understanding what\r\nA child's touch means of joy or woe,\r\nAnd many toils she beareth not.\r\n\r\nBut they within whose garden fair\r\nThat gentle plant hath blown, they go\r\nDeep-written all their days with care\u2014\r\nTo rear the children, to make fast\r\nTheir hold, to win them wealth; and then\r\nMuch darkness, if the seed at last\r\nBear fruit in good or evil men!\r\nAnd one thing at the end of all\r\nAbideth, that which all men dread:\r\nThe wealth is won, the limbs are bred\r\nTo manhood, and the heart withal\r\nHonest: and, lo, where Fortune smiled,\r\nSome change, and what hath fallen? Hark!\r\n'Tis death slow winging to the dark,\r\nAnd in his arms what was thy child.\r\n\r\nWhat therefore doth it bring of gain\r\nTo man, whose cup stood full before,\r\nThat God should send this one thing more\r\nOf hunger and of dread, a door\r\nSet wide to every wind of pain?\r\n\r\n<\/div>\r\n

[Medea<\/span> comes out alone from the house<\/i>.]<\/p>\r\n\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Friends, this long hour I wait on Fortune's eyes,\r\nAnd strain my senses in a hot surmise\r\nWhat passeth on that hill.\u2014Ha! even now\r\nThere comes . . . 'tis one of Jason's men, I trow.\r\nHis wild-perturb\u00e8d breath doth warrant me\r\nThe tidings of some strange calamity.<\/div>\r\n

[Enter<\/i> Messenger<\/span>.]<\/p>\r\n\r\n

Messenger<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
O dire and ghastly deed! Get thee away,\r\nMedea! Fly! Nor let behind thee stay\r\nOne chariot's wing, one keel that sweeps the seas. . . .<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
And what hath chanced, to cause such flights as these?<\/div>\r\n

Messenger<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
The maiden princess lieth\u2014and her sire,\r\nThe king\u2014both murdered by thy poison-fire.<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Most happy tiding! Which thy name prefers\r\nHenceforth among my friends and well-wishers.<\/div>\r\n

Messenger<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
What say'st thou? Woman, is thy mind within\r\nClear, and not raving? Thou art found in sin\r\nMost bloody wrought against the king's high head,\r\nAnd laughest at the tale, and hast no dread?<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
I have words also that could answer well\r\nThy word. But take thine ease, good friend, and tell,\r\nHow died they? Hath it been a very foul\r\nDeath, prithee? That were comfort to my soul.<\/div>\r\n

Messenger<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
When thy two children, hand in hand entwined,\r\nCame with their father, and passed on to find\r\nThe new-made bridal rooms, Oh, we were glad,\r\nWe thralls, who ever loved thee well, and had\r\nGrief in thy grief. And straight there passed a word\r\nFrom ear to ear, that thou and thy false lord\r\nHad poured peace offering upon wrath foregone.\r\nA right glad welcome gave we them, and one\r\nKissed the small hand, and one the shining hair:\r\nMyself, for very joy, I followed where\r\nThe women's rooms are. There our mistress . . . she\r\nWhom now we name so . . . thinking not to see\r\nThy little pair, with glad and eager brow\r\nSate waiting Jason. Then she saw, and slow\r\nShrouded her eyes, and backward turned again,\r\nSick that thy children should come near her. Then\r\nThy husband quick went forward, to entreat\r\nThe young maid's fitful wrath. \"Thou will not meet\r\nLove's coming with unkindness? Nay, refrain\r\nThy suddenness, and turn thy face again,\r\nHolding as friends all that to me are dear,\r\nThine husband. And accept these robes they bear\r\nAs gifts: and beg thy father to unmake\r\nHis doom of exile on them\u2014for my sake.\"\r\nWhen once she saw the raiment, she could still\r\nHer joy no more, but gave him all his will.\r\nAnd almost ere the father and the two\r\nChildren were gone from out the room, she drew\r\nThe flower\u00e8d garments forth, and sate her down\r\nTo her arraying: bound the golden crown\r\nThrough her long curls, and in a mirror fair\r\nArranged their separate clusters, smiling there\r\nAt the dead self that faced her. Then aside\r\nShe pushed her seat, and paced those chambers wide\r\nAlone, her white foot poising delicately\u2014\r\nSo passing joyful in those gifts was she!\u2014\r\nAnd many a time would pause, straight-limbed, and wheel\r\nHer head to watch the long fold to her heel\r\nSweeping. And then came something strange. Her cheek\r\nSeemed pale, and back with crooked steps and weak\r\nGroping of arms she walked, and scarcely found\r\nHer old seat, that she fell not to the ground.\r\nAmong the handmaids was a woman old\r\nAnd grey, who deemed, I think, that Pan had hold\r\nUpon her, or some spirit, and raised a keen\r\nAwakening shout; till through her lips was seen\r\nA white foam crawling, and her eyeballs back\r\nTwisted, and all her face dead pale for lack\r\nOf life: and while that old dame called, the cry\r\nTurned strangely to its opposite, to die\r\nSobbing. Oh, swiftly then one woman flew\r\nTo seek her father's rooms, one for the new\r\nBridegroom, to tell the tale. And all the place\r\nWas loud with hurrying feet.\r\nSo long a space\r\nAs a swift walker on a measured way\r\nWould pace a furlong's course in, there she lay\r\nSpeechless, with veil\u00e8d lids. Then wide her eyes\r\nShe oped, and wildly, as she strove to rise,\r\nShrieked: for two diverse waves upon her rolled\r\nOf stabbing death. The carcanet of gold\r\nThat gripped her brow was molten in a dire\r\nAnd wondrous river of devouring fire.\r\nAnd those fine robes, the gift thy children gave\u2014\r\nGod's mercy!\u2014everywhere did lap and lave\r\nThe delicate flesh; till up she sprang, and fled,\r\nA fiery pillar, shaking locks and head\r\nThis way and that, seeking to cast the crown\r\nSomewhere away. But like a thing nailed down\r\nThe burning gold held fast the anadem,\r\nAnd through her locks, the more she scattered them,\r\nCame fire the fiercer, till to earth she fell\r\nA thing\u2014save to her sire\u2014scarce nameable,\r\nAnd strove no more. That cheek of royal mien,\r\nWhere was it\u2014or the place where eyes had been?\r\nOnly from crown and temples came faint blood\r\nShot through with fire. The very flesh, it stood\r\nOut from the bones, as from a wounded pine\r\nThe gum starts, where those gnawing poisons fine\r\nBit in the dark\u2014a ghastly sight! And touch\r\nThe dead we durst not. We had seen too much.\r\nBut that poor father, knowing not, had sped,\r\nSwift to his daughter's room, and there the dead\r\nLay at his feet. He knelt, and groaning low,\r\nFolded her in his arms, and kissed her: \"Oh,\r\nUnhappy child, what thing unnatural hath\r\nSo hideously undone thee? Or what wrath\r\nOf gods, to make this old grey sepulchre\r\nChildless of thee? Would God but lay me there\r\nTo die with thee, my daughter!\" So he cried.\r\nBut after, when he stayed from tears, and tried\r\nTo uplift his old bent frame, lo, in the folds\r\nOf those fine robes it held, as ivy holds\r\nStrangling among your laurel boughs. Oh, then\r\nA ghastly struggle came! Again, again,\r\nUp on his knee he writhed; but that dead breast\r\nClung still to his: till, wild, like one possessed,\r\nHe dragged himself half free; and, lo, the live\r\nFlesh parted; and he laid him down to strive\r\nNo more with death, but perish; for the deep\r\nHad risen above his soul. And there they sleep,\r\nAt last, the old proud father and the bride,\r\nEven as his tears had craved it, side by side.\r\nFor thee\u2014Oh, no word more! Thyself will know\r\nHow best to baffle vengeance. . . . Long ago\r\nI looked upon man's days, and found a grey\r\nShadow. And this thing more I surely say,\r\nThat those of all men who are counted wise,\r\nStrong wits, devisers of great policies,\r\nDo pay the bitterest toll. Since life began,\r\nHath there in God's eye stood one happy man?\r\nFair days roll on, and bear more gifts or less\r\nOf fortune, but to no man happiness.<\/div>\r\n

[Exit<\/i> Messenger<\/span>.]<\/p>\r\n\r\n

<\/h3>","rendered":"

Aegeus<\/h3>\n
How, who gives the bride? Say on.<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
Creon, who o’er all Corinth standeth chief.<\/div>\n

Aegeus<\/span><\/h3>\n
Woman, thou hast indeed much cause for grief.<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
‘Tis ruin.\u2014And they have cast me out as well.<\/div>\n

Aegeus<\/span><\/h3>\n
Who? ‘Tis a new wrong this, and terrible.<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
Creon the king, from every land and shore. . . .<\/div>\n

Aegeus<\/span><\/h3>\n
And Jason suffers him? Oh, ’tis too sore!<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
He loveth to bear bravely ills like these!
\nBut, Aegeus, by thy beard, oh, by thy knees,
\nI pray thee, and I give me for thine own,
\nThy suppliant, pity me! Oh, pity one
\nSo miserable. Thou never wilt stand there
\nAnd see me cast out friendless to despair.
\nGive me a home in Athens . . . by the fire
\nOf thine own hearth! Oh, so may thy desire
\nOf children be fulfilled of God, and thou
\nDie happy! . . . Thou canst know not; even now
\nThy prize is won! I, I will make of thee
\nA childless man no more. The seed shall be,
\nI swear it, sown. Such magic herbs I know.<\/div>\n

Aegeus<\/span><\/h3>\n
Woman, indeed my heart goes forth to show
\nThis help to thee, first for religion’s sake,
\nThen for thy promised hope, to heal my ache
\nOf childlessness. ‘Tis this hath made mine whole
\nLife as a shadow, and starved out my soul.
\nBut thus it stands with me. Once make thy way
\nTo Attic earth, I, as in law I may,
\nWill keep thee and befriend. But in this land,
\nWhere Creon rules, I may not raise my hand
\nTo shelter thee. Move of thine own essay
\nTo seek my house, there thou shalt alway stay,
\nInviolate, never to be seized again.
\nBut come thyself from Corinth. I would fain
\nEven in foreign eyes be alway just.<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
‘Tis well. Give me an oath wherein to trust
\nAnd all that man could ask thou hast granted me.<\/div>\n

Aegeus<\/span><\/h3>\n
Dost trust me not? Or what thing troubleth thee?<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
I trust thee. But so many, far and near,
\nDo hate me\u2014all King Pelias’ house, and here
\nCreon. Once bound by oaths and sanctities
\nThou canst not yield me up for such as these
\nTo drag from Athens. But a spoken word,
\nNo more, to bind thee, which no God hath heard. . .
\nThe embassies, methinks, would come and go:
\nThey all are friends to thee. . . . Ah me, I know
\nThou wilt not list to me! So weak am I,
\nAnd they full-filled with gold and majesty.<\/div>\n

Aegeus<\/span><\/h3>\n
Methinks ’tis a far foresight, this thine oath.
\nStill, if thou so wilt have it, nothing loath
\nAm I to serve thee. Mine own hand is so
\nThe stronger, if I have this plea to show
\nThy persecutors: and for thee withal
\nThe bond more sure.\u2014On what God shall I call?<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
Swear by the Earth thou treadest, by the Sun,
\nSire of my sires, and all the gods as one. . . .<\/div>\n

Aegeus<\/span><\/h3>\n
To do what thing or not do? Make all plain.<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
Never thyself to cast me out again.
\nNor let another, whatsoe’er his plea,
\nTake me, while thou yet livest and art free.<\/div>\n

Aegeus<\/span><\/h3>\n
Never: so hear me, Earth, and the great star
\nOf daylight, and all other gods that are!<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
‘Tis well: and if thou falter from thy vow . . . ?<\/div>\n

Aegeus<\/span><\/h3>\n
God’s judgment on the godless break my brow!<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
Go! Go thy ways rejoicing.\u2014All is bright
\nAnd clear before me. Go: and ere the night
\nMyself will follow, when the deed is done
\nI purpose, and the end I thirst for won.<\/div>\n

[Aegeus<\/span> and his train depart<\/i>.]<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/span><\/h3>\n
Farewell: and Maia’s guiding Son
\nBack lead thee to thy hearth and fire,
\nAegeus; and all the long desire
\nThat wasteth thee, at last be won:
\nOur eyes have seen thee as thou art,
\nA gentle and a righteous heart.<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
God, and God’s Justice, and ye blinding Skies!
\nAt last the victory dawneth! Yea, mine eyes
\nSee, and my foot is on the mountain’s brow.
\nMine enemies! Mine enemies, oh, now
\nAtonement cometh! Here at my worst hour
\nA friend is found, a very port of power
\nTo save my shipwreck. Here will I make fast
\nMine anchor, and escape them at the last
\nIn Athens’ wall\u00e8d hill.\u2014But ere the end
\n‘Tis meet I show thee all my counsel, friend:
\nTake it, no tale to make men laugh withal!
\nStraightway to Jason I will send some thrall
\nTo entreat him to my presence. Comes he here,
\nThen with soft reasons will I feed his ear,
\nHow his will now is my will, how all things
\nAre well, touching this marriage-bed of kings
\nFor which I am betrayed\u2014all wise and rare
\nAnd profitable! Yet will I make one prayer,
\nThat my two children be no more exiled
\nBut stay. . . . Oh, not that I would leave a child
\nHere upon angry shores till those have laughed
\nWho hate me: ’tis that I will slay by craft
\nThe king’s daughter. With gifts they shall be sent,
\nGifts to the bride to spare their banishment,
\nFine robings and a carcanet of gold.
\nWhich raiment let her once but take, and fold
\nAbout her, a foul death that girl shall die
\nAnd all who touch her in her agony.
\nSuch poison shall they drink, my robe and wreath!
\nHowbeit, of that no more. I gnash my teeth
\nThinking on what a path my feet must tread
\nThereafter. I shall lay those children dead\u2014
\nMine, whom no hand shall steal from me away!
\nThen, leaving Jason childless, and the day
\nAs night above him, I will go my road
\nTo exile, flying, flying from the blood
\nOf these my best-beloved, and having wrought
\nAll horror, so but one thing reach me not,
\nThe laugh of them that hate us.
\nLet it come!
\nWhat profits life to me? I have no home,
\nNo country now, nor shield from any wrong.
\nThat was my evil hour, when down the long
\nHalls of my father out I stole, my will
\nChained by a Greek man’s voice, who still, oh, still,
\nIf God yet live, shall all requited be.
\nFor never child of mine shall Jason see
\nHereafter living, never child beget
\nFrom his new bride, who this day, desolate
\nEven as she made me desolate, shall die
\nShrieking amid my poisons. . . . Names have I
\nAmong your folk? One light? One weak of hand?
\nAn eastern dreamer?\u2014Nay, but with the brand
\nOf strange suns burnt, my hate, by God above,
\nA perilous thing, and passing sweet my love!
\nFor these it is that make life glorious.<\/div>\n

Leader<\/span><\/h3>\n
Since thou has bared thy fell intent to us
\nI, loving thee, and helping in their need
\nMan’s laws, adjure thee, dream not of this deed!<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
There is no other way.\u2014I pardon thee
\nThy littleness, who art not wronged like me.<\/div>\n

Leader<\/span><\/h3>\n
Thou canst not kill the fruit thy body bore!<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
Yes: if the man I hate be pained the more.<\/div>\n

Leader<\/span><\/h3>\n
And thou made miserable, most miserable?<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
Oh, let it come! All words of good or ill
\nAre wasted now.
\n[She claps her hands: the<\/i> Nurse<\/span> comes out from the house<\/i>.]
\nHo, woman; get thee gone
\nAnd lead lord Jason hither. . . . There is none
\nLike thee, to work me these high services.
\nBut speak no word of what my purpose is,
\nAs thou art faithful, thou, and bold to try
\nAll succours, and a woman even as I!<\/div>\n

[The<\/i> Nurse<\/span> departs<\/i>.]<\/p>\n

\n

Chorus<\/span><\/h3>\n
\n

The sons of Erechtheus, the olden,
\nWhom high gods planted of yore
\nIn an old land of heaven upholden,
\nA proud land untrodden of war:
\nThey are hungered, and, lo, their desire
\nWith wisdom is fed as with meat:
\nIn their skies is a shining of fire,
\nA joy in the fall of their feet:
\nAnd thither, with manifold dowers,
\nFrom the North, from the hills, from the morn,
\nThe Muses did gather their powers,
\nThat a child of the Nine should be born;
\nAnd Harmony, sown as the flowers,
\nGrew gold in the acres of corn.<\/p>\n

And Ceph\u00eesus, the fair-flowing river\u2014
\nThe Cyprian dipping her hand
\nHath drawn of his dew, and the shiver
\nOf her touch is as joy in the land.
\nFor her breathing in fragrance is written,
\nAnd in music her path as she goes,
\nAnd the cloud of her hair, it is litten
\nWith stars of the wind-woven rose.
\nSo fareth she ever and ever,
\nAnd forth of her bosom is blown,
\nAs dews on the winds of the river,
\nAn hunger of passions unknown.
\nStrong Loves of all godlike endeavour,
\nWhom Wisdom shall throne on her throne.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

Some Women<\/h4>\n
But Ceph\u00eesus the fair-flowing,
\nWill he bear thee on his shore?
\nShall the land that succours all, succour thee,
\nWho art foul among thy kind,
\nWith the tears of children blind?
\nDost thou see the red gash growing,
\nThine own burden dost thou see?
\nEvery side, Every way,
\nLo, we kneel to thee and pray:
\nBy thy knees, by thy soul, O woman wild!
\nOne at least thou canst not slay,
\nNot thy child!<\/div>\n

Others<\/h3>\n
Hast thou ice that thou shalt bind it
\nTo thy breast, and make thee dead
\nTo thy children, to thine own spirit’s pain?
\nWhen the hand knows what it dares,
\nWhen thine eyes look into theirs,
\nShalt thou keep by tears unblinded
\nThy dividing of the slain?
\nThese be deeds Not for thee:
\nThese be things that cannot be!
\nThy babes\u2014though thine hardihood be fell,
\nWhen they cling about thy knee,
\n‘Twill be well!<\/div>\n

[Enter<\/em> Jason<\/span>.]<\/p>\n

Jason<\/span><\/h3>\n
I answer to thy call. Though full of hate
\nThou be, I yet will not so far abate
\nMy kindness for thee, nor refuse mine ear.
\nSay in what new desire thou hast called me here.<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
Jason, I pray thee, for my words but now
\nSpoken, forgive me. My bad moods. . . . Oh, thou
\nAt least wilt strive to bear with them! There be
\nMany old deeds of love ‘twixt me and thee.
\nLo, I have reasoned with myself apart
\nAnd chidden: “Why must I be mad, O heart
\nOf mine: and raging against one whose word
\nIs wisdom: making me a thing abhorred
\nTo them that rule the land, and to mine own
\nHusband, who doth but that which, being done,
\nWill help us all\u2014to wed a queen, and get
\nYoung kings for brethren to my sons? And yet
\nI rage alone, and cannot quit my rage\u2014
\nWhat aileth me?\u2014when God sends harbourage
\nSo simple? Have I not my children? Know
\nI not we are but exiles, and must go
\nBeggared and friendless else?” Thought upon thought
\nSo pressed me, till I knew myself full-fraught
\nWith bitterness of heart and blinded eyes.
\nSo now\u2014I give thee thanks: and hold thee wise<\/div>\n
To have caught this anchor for our aid. The fool
\nWas I; who should have been thy friend, thy tool;
\nGone wooing with thee, stood at thy bed-side
\nServing, and welcomed duteously thy bride.
\nBut, as we are, we are\u2014I will not say
\nMere evil\u2014women! Why must thou to-day
\nTurn strange, and make thee like some evil thing,
\nChildish, to meet my childish passioning?
\nSee, I surrender: and confess that then
\nI had bad thoughts, but now have turned again
\nAnd found my wiser mind.<\/div>\n
[She claps her hands<\/i>.]<\/div>\n
Ho, children! Run
\nQuickly! Come hither, out into the sun,
\n[The<\/i> Children<\/span> come from the house, followed by their<\/i> Attendant<\/span>.]
\nAnd greet your father. Welcome him with us,
\nAnd throw quite, quite away, as mother does,
\nYour anger against one so dear. Our peace
\nIs made, and all the old bad war shall cease
\nFor ever.\u2014Go, and take his hand. . . .
\n[As the<\/i> Children<\/span> go to<\/i> Jason<\/span>, she suddenly bursts into tears.\u00a0<\/i>The<\/i> Children<\/span> quickly return to her: she recovers herself, <\/i>smiling amid her tears<\/i>.]
\nAh me,
\nI am full of hidden horrors! . . . Shall it be
\nA long time more, my children, that ye live
\nTo reach to me those dear, dear arms? . . . Forgive!
\nI am so ready with my tears to-day,
\nAnd full of dread. . . . I sought to smooth away
\nThe long strife with your father, and, lo, now
\nI have all drowned with tears this little brow!<\/div>\n

[She wipes the child’s face.<\/i>]<\/p>\n

Leader<\/span><\/h3>\n
O’er mine eyes too there stealeth a pale tear:
\nLet the evil rest, O God, let it rest here!<\/div>\n

Jason<\/span><\/h3>\n
Woman, indeed I praise thee now, nor say
\nIll of thine other hour. ‘Tis nature’s way,
\nA woman needs must stir herself to wrath,
\nWhen work of marriage by so strange a path
\nCrosseth her lord. But thou, thine heart doth wend
\nThe happier road. Thou hast seen, ere quite the end,
\nWhat choice must needs be stronger: which to do
\nShows a wise-minded woman. . . . And for you,
\nChildren; your father never has forgot
\nYour needs. If God but help him, he hath wrought
\nA strong deliverance for your weakness. Yea,
\nI think you, with your brethren, yet one day
\nShall be the mightiest voices in this land.
\nDo you grow tall and strong. Your father’s hand
\nGuideth all else, and whatso power divine
\nHath alway helped him. . . . Ah, may it be mine
\nTo see you yet in manhood, stern of brow,
\nStrong-armed, set high o’er those that hate me. . . .
\nHow?
\nWoman, thy face is turned. Thy cheek is swept
\nWith pallor of strange tears. Dost not accept
\nGladly and of good will my benisons?<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
‘Tis nothing. Thinking of these little ones. . . .<\/div>\n

Jason<\/span><\/h3>\n
Take heart, then. I will guard them from all ill.<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
I do take heart. Thy word I never will
\nMistrust. Alas, a woman’s bosom bears
\nBut woman’s courage, a thing born for tears.<\/div>\n

Jason<\/span><\/h3>\n
What ails thee?\u2014All too sore thou weepest there.<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
I was their mother! When I heard thy prayer
\nOf long life for them, there swept over me
\nA horror, wondering how these things shall be.
\nBut for the matter of my need that thou
\nShould speak with me, part I have said, and now
\nWill finish.\u2014Seeing it is the king’s behest
\nTo cast me out from Corinth . . . aye, and best,
\nFar best, for me\u2014I know it\u2014not to stay
\nLonger to trouble thee and those who sway
\nThe realm, being held to all their house a foe. . . .
\nBehold, I spread my sails, and meekly go
\nTo exile. But our children. . . . Could this land
\nBe still their home awhile: could thine own hand
\nBut guide their boyhood. . . . Seek the king, and pray
\nHis pity, that he bid thy children stay!<\/div>\n

Jason<\/span><\/h3>\n
He is hard to move. Yet surely ’twere well done.<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
Bid her\u2014for thy sake, for a daughters boon. . . .<\/div>\n

Jason<\/span><\/h3>\n
Well thought! Her I can fashion to my mind.<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
Surely. She is a woman like her kind. . . .
\nYet I will aid thee in thy labour; I
\nWill send her gifts, the fairest gifts that lie
\nIn the hands of men, things of the days of old,
\nFine robings and a carcanet of gold,
\nBy the boys’ hands.\u2014Go, quick, some handmaiden,
\nAnd fetch the raiment.
\n[A handmaid goes into the house.<\/i>]<\/div>\n
Ah, her cup shall then
\nBe filled indeed! What more should woman crave,
\nBeing wed with thee, the bravest of the brave,
\nAnd girt with raiment which of old the sire
\nOf all my house, the Sun, gave, steeped in fire,
\nTo his own fiery race?
\n[The handmaid has returned bearing the Gifts.<\/i>]<\/div>\n
Come, children, lift
\nWith heed these caskets. Bear them as your gift
\nTo her, being bride and princess and of right
\nBlessed!\u2014I think she will not hold them light.<\/div>\n

Jason<\/span><\/h3>\n
Fond woman, why wilt empty thus thine hand
\nOf treasure? Doth King Creon’s castle stand
\nIn stint of raiment, or in stint of gold?
\nKeep these, and make no gift. For if she hold
\nJason of any worth at all, I swear
\nChattels like these will not weigh more with her.<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
Ah, chide me not! ‘Tis written, gifts persuade
\nThe gods in heaven; and gold is stronger made
\nThan words innumerable to bend men’s ways.
\nFortune is hers. God maketh great her days:
\nYoung and a crown\u00e8d queen! And banishment
\nFor those two babes. . . . I would not gold were spent,
\nBut life’s blood, ere that come.
\nMy children, go
\nForth into those rich halls, and, bowing low,
\nBeseech your father’s bride, whom I obey,
\nYe be not, of her mercy, cast away
\nExiled: and give the caskets\u2014above all
\nMark this!\u2014to none but her, to hold withal
\nAnd keep. . . . Go quick! And let your mother know
\nSoon the good tiding that she longs for. . . . Go!<\/div>\n

[She goes quickly into the house.<\/i> Jason<\/span> and the<\/i> Children<\/span> with their<\/i> Attendant<\/span> depart<\/i>.]<\/p>\n

\n

Chorus<\/span><\/h3>\n
\n

Now I have no hope more of the children’s living;
\nNo hope more. They are gone forth unto death.
\nThe bride, she taketh the poison of their giving:
\nShe taketh the bounden gold and openeth;
\nAnd the crown, the crown, she lifteth about her brow,
\nWhere the light brown curls are clustering. No hope now!<\/p>\n

O sweet and cloudy gleam of the garments golden!
\nThe robe, it hath clasped her breast and the crown her head.
\nThen, then, she decketh the bride, as a bride of olden
\nStory, that goeth pale to the kiss of the dead.
\nFor the ring hath closed, and the portion of death is there;
\nAnd she flieth not, but perisheth unaware.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

Some Women<\/h4>\n
O bridegroom, bridegroom of the kiss so cold,
\nArt thou wed with princes, art thou girt with gold,
\nWho know’st not, suing
\nFor thy child’s undoing,
\nAnd, on her thou lovest, for a doom untold?
\nHow art thou fallen from thy place of old!<\/div>\n

Others<\/h3>\n
O Mother, Mother, what hast thou to reap,
\nWhen the harvest cometh, between wake and sleep?
\nFor a heart unslaken,
\nFor a troth forsaken,
\nLo, babes that call thee from a bloody deep:
\nAnd thy love returns not. Get thee forth and weep!<\/div>\n

[Enter the<\/i> Attendant<\/span> with the two<\/i> Children: Medea<\/span> comes out from the house<\/i>.]<\/p>\n

Attendant<\/span><\/h3>\n
Mistress, these children from their banishment
\nAre spared. The royal bride hath mildly bent
\nHer hand to accept thy gifts, and all is now
\nPeace for the children.\u2014Ha, why standest thou
\nConfounded, when good fortune draweth near?<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
Ah God!<\/div>\n

Attendant<\/span><\/h3>\n
This chimes not with the news I bear.<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
O God, have mercy!<\/div>\n

Attendant<\/span><\/h3>\n
Is some word of wrath
\nHere hidden that I knew not of? And hath
\nMy hope to give thee joy so cheated me?<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
Thou givest what thou givest: I blame not thee.<\/div>\n

Attendant<\/span><\/h3>\n
Thy brows are all o’ercast: thine eyes are filled. . . .<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
For bitter need, Old Man! The gods have willed,
\nAnd my own evil mind, that this should come.<\/div>\n

Attendant<\/span><\/h3>\n
Take heart! Thy sons one day will bring thee home.<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
Home? . . . I have others to send home. Woe’s me!<\/div>\n

Attendant<\/span><\/h3>\n
Be patient. Many a mother before thee
\nHath parted from her children. We poor things
\nOf men must needs endure what fortune brings.<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
\n

I will endure.\u2014Go thou within, and lay
\nAll ready that my sons may need to-day.
\n[The<\/i> Attendant<\/span> goes into the house<\/i>.]
\nO children, children mine: and you have found
\nA land and home, where, leaving me discrowned
\nAnd desolate, forever you will stay,
\nMotherless children! And I go my way
\nTo other lands, an exile, ere you bring
\nYour fruits home, ere I see you prospering
\nOr know your brides, or deck the bridal bed,
\nAll flowers, and lift your torches overhead.
\nOh curs\u00e8d be mine own hard heart! ‘Twas all
\nIn vain, then, that I reared you up, so tall
\nAnd fair; in vain I bore you, and was torn
\nWith those long pitiless pains, when you were born.
\nAh, wondrous hopes my poor heart had in you,
\nHow you would tend me in mine age, and do
\nThe shroud about me with your own dear hands,
\nWhen I lay cold, bless\u00e8d in all the lands
\nThat knew us. And that gentle thought is dead!
\nYou go, and I live on, to eat the bread
\nOf long years, to myself most full of pain.
\nAnd never your dear eyes, never again,
\nShall see your mother, far away being thrown
\nTo other shapes of life. . . . My babes, my own,
\nWhy gaze ye so?\u2014What is it that ye see?\u2014
\nAnd laugh with that last laughter? . . . Woe is me,
\nWhat shall I do?
\nWomen, my strength is gone,
\nGone like a dream, since once I looked upon
\nThose shining faces. . . . I can do it not.
\nGood-bye to all the thoughts that burned so hot
\nAforetime! I will take and hide them far,
\nFar, from men’s eyes. Why should I seek a war
\nSo blind: by these babes’ wounds to sting again
\nTheir father’s heart, and win myself a pain
\nTwice deeper? Never, never! I forget
\nHenceforward all I laboured for.
\nAnd yet,
\nWhat is it with me? Would I be a thing
\nMocked at, and leave mine enemies to sting
\nUnsmitten? It must be. O coward heart,
\nEver to harbour such soft words!\u2014Depart
\nOut of my sight, ye twain.<\/p>\n

[The<\/i> Children<\/span> go in<\/i>.]
\nAnd they whose eyes
\nShall hold it sin to share my sacrifice,
\nOn their heads be it! My hand shall swerve not now.<\/p>\n

Ah, Ah, thou Wrath within me! Do not thou,
\nDo not. . . . Down, down, thou tortured thing, and spare
\nMy children! They will dwell with us, aye, there
\nFar off, and give thee peace.
\nToo late, too late!
\nBy all Hell’s living agonies of hate,
\nThey shall not take my little ones alive
\nTo make their mock with! Howsoe’er I strive
\nThe thing is doomed; it shall not escape now
\nFrom being. Aye, the crown is on the brow,
\nAnd the robe girt, and in the robe that high
\nQueen dying.
\nI know all. Yet . . . seeing that I
\nMust go so long a journey, and these twain
\nA longer yet and darker, I would fain
\nSpeak with them, ere I go.
\n[A handmaid brings the<\/i> Children<\/span> out again<\/i>.]
\nCome, children; stand
\nA little from me. There. Reach out your hand,
\nYour right hand\u2014so\u2014to mother: and good-bye!
\n[She has kept them hitherto at arm’s length: but at the touch of their hands, her resolution breaks down, and she gathers them passionately into her arms.<\/i>]<\/p>\n

Oh, darling hand! Oh, darling mouth, and eye,
\nAnd royal mien, and bright brave faces clear,
\nMay you be bless\u00e8d, but not here! What here
\nWas yours, your father stole. . . . Ah God, the glow
\nOf cheek on cheek, the tender touch; and Oh,
\nSweet scent of childhood. . . . Go! Go! . . . Am I blind? . . .
\nMine eyes can see not, when I look to find
\nTheir places. I am broken by the wings
\nOf evil. . . . Yea, I know to what bad things
\nI go, but louder than all thought doth cry
\nAnger, which maketh man’s worst misery.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

[She follows the<\/i> Children<\/span> into the house<\/i>.]<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/span><\/h3>\n
\n

My thoughts have roamed a cloudy land,
\nAnd heard a fierier music fall
\nThan woman’s heart should stir withal:
\nAnd yet some Muse majestical,
\nUnknown, hath hold of woman’s hand,
\nSeeking for Wisdom\u2014not in all:
\nA feeble seed, a scattered band,
\nThou yet shalt find in lonely places,
\nNot dead amongst us, nor our faces
\nTurned alway from the Muses’ call.<\/p>\n

And thus my thought would speak: that she
\nWho ne’er hath borne a child nor known
\nIs nearer to felicity:
\nUnlit she goeth and alone,
\nWith little understanding what
\nA child’s touch means of joy or woe,
\nAnd many toils she beareth not.<\/p>\n

But they within whose garden fair
\nThat gentle plant hath blown, they go
\nDeep-written all their days with care\u2014
\nTo rear the children, to make fast
\nTheir hold, to win them wealth; and then
\nMuch darkness, if the seed at last
\nBear fruit in good or evil men!
\nAnd one thing at the end of all
\nAbideth, that which all men dread:
\nThe wealth is won, the limbs are bred
\nTo manhood, and the heart withal
\nHonest: and, lo, where Fortune smiled,
\nSome change, and what hath fallen? Hark!
\n‘Tis death slow winging to the dark,
\nAnd in his arms what was thy child.<\/p>\n

What therefore doth it bring of gain
\nTo man, whose cup stood full before,
\nThat God should send this one thing more
\nOf hunger and of dread, a door
\nSet wide to every wind of pain?<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

[Medea<\/span> comes out alone from the house<\/i>.]<\/p>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
Friends, this long hour I wait on Fortune’s eyes,
\nAnd strain my senses in a hot surmise
\nWhat passeth on that hill.\u2014Ha! even now
\nThere comes . . . ’tis one of Jason’s men, I trow.
\nHis wild-perturb\u00e8d breath doth warrant me
\nThe tidings of some strange calamity.<\/div>\n

[Enter<\/i> Messenger<\/span>.]<\/p>\n

Messenger<\/span><\/h3>\n
O dire and ghastly deed! Get thee away,
\nMedea! Fly! Nor let behind thee stay
\nOne chariot’s wing, one keel that sweeps the seas. . . .<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
And what hath chanced, to cause such flights as these?<\/div>\n

Messenger<\/span><\/h3>\n
The maiden princess lieth\u2014and her sire,
\nThe king\u2014both murdered by thy poison-fire.<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
Most happy tiding! Which thy name prefers
\nHenceforth among my friends and well-wishers.<\/div>\n

Messenger<\/span><\/h3>\n
What say’st thou? Woman, is thy mind within
\nClear, and not raving? Thou art found in sin
\nMost bloody wrought against the king’s high head,
\nAnd laughest at the tale, and hast no dread?<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
I have words also that could answer well
\nThy word. But take thine ease, good friend, and tell,
\nHow died they? Hath it been a very foul
\nDeath, prithee? That were comfort to my soul.<\/div>\n

Messenger<\/span><\/h3>\n
When thy two children, hand in hand entwined,
\nCame with their father, and passed on to find
\nThe new-made bridal rooms, Oh, we were glad,
\nWe thralls, who ever loved thee well, and had
\nGrief in thy grief. And straight there passed a word
\nFrom ear to ear, that thou and thy false lord
\nHad poured peace offering upon wrath foregone.
\nA right glad welcome gave we them, and one
\nKissed the small hand, and one the shining hair:
\nMyself, for very joy, I followed where
\nThe women’s rooms are. There our mistress . . . she
\nWhom now we name so . . . thinking not to see
\nThy little pair, with glad and eager brow
\nSate waiting Jason. Then she saw, and slow
\nShrouded her eyes, and backward turned again,
\nSick that thy children should come near her. Then
\nThy husband quick went forward, to entreat
\nThe young maid’s fitful wrath. “Thou will not meet
\nLove’s coming with unkindness? Nay, refrain
\nThy suddenness, and turn thy face again,
\nHolding as friends all that to me are dear,
\nThine husband. And accept these robes they bear
\nAs gifts: and beg thy father to unmake
\nHis doom of exile on them\u2014for my sake.”
\nWhen once she saw the raiment, she could still
\nHer joy no more, but gave him all his will.
\nAnd almost ere the father and the two
\nChildren were gone from out the room, she drew
\nThe flower\u00e8d garments forth, and sate her down
\nTo her arraying: bound the golden crown
\nThrough her long curls, and in a mirror fair
\nArranged their separate clusters, smiling there
\nAt the dead self that faced her. Then aside
\nShe pushed her seat, and paced those chambers wide
\nAlone, her white foot poising delicately\u2014
\nSo passing joyful in those gifts was she!\u2014
\nAnd many a time would pause, straight-limbed, and wheel
\nHer head to watch the long fold to her heel
\nSweeping. And then came something strange. Her cheek
\nSeemed pale, and back with crooked steps and weak
\nGroping of arms she walked, and scarcely found
\nHer old seat, that she fell not to the ground.
\nAmong the handmaids was a woman old
\nAnd grey, who deemed, I think, that Pan had hold
\nUpon her, or some spirit, and raised a keen
\nAwakening shout; till through her lips was seen
\nA white foam crawling, and her eyeballs back
\nTwisted, and all her face dead pale for lack
\nOf life: and while that old dame called, the cry
\nTurned strangely to its opposite, to die
\nSobbing. Oh, swiftly then one woman flew
\nTo seek her father’s rooms, one for the new
\nBridegroom, to tell the tale. And all the place
\nWas loud with hurrying feet.
\nSo long a space
\nAs a swift walker on a measured way
\nWould pace a furlong’s course in, there she lay
\nSpeechless, with veil\u00e8d lids. Then wide her eyes
\nShe oped, and wildly, as she strove to rise,
\nShrieked: for two diverse waves upon her rolled
\nOf stabbing death. The carcanet of gold
\nThat gripped her brow was molten in a dire
\nAnd wondrous river of devouring fire.
\nAnd those fine robes, the gift thy children gave\u2014
\nGod’s mercy!\u2014everywhere did lap and lave
\nThe delicate flesh; till up she sprang, and fled,
\nA fiery pillar, shaking locks and head
\nThis way and that, seeking to cast the crown
\nSomewhere away. But like a thing nailed down
\nThe burning gold held fast the anadem,
\nAnd through her locks, the more she scattered them,
\nCame fire the fiercer, till to earth she fell
\nA thing\u2014save to her sire\u2014scarce nameable,
\nAnd strove no more. That cheek of royal mien,
\nWhere was it\u2014or the place where eyes had been?
\nOnly from crown and temples came faint blood
\nShot through with fire. The very flesh, it stood
\nOut from the bones, as from a wounded pine
\nThe gum starts, where those gnawing poisons fine
\nBit in the dark\u2014a ghastly sight! And touch
\nThe dead we durst not. We had seen too much.
\nBut that poor father, knowing not, had sped,
\nSwift to his daughter’s room, and there the dead
\nLay at his feet. He knelt, and groaning low,
\nFolded her in his arms, and kissed her: “Oh,
\nUnhappy child, what thing unnatural hath
\nSo hideously undone thee? Or what wrath
\nOf gods, to make this old grey sepulchre
\nChildless of thee? Would God but lay me there
\nTo die with thee, my daughter!” So he cried.
\nBut after, when he stayed from tears, and tried
\nTo uplift his old bent frame, lo, in the folds
\nOf those fine robes it held, as ivy holds
\nStrangling among your laurel boughs. Oh, then
\nA ghastly struggle came! Again, again,
\nUp on his knee he writhed; but that dead breast
\nClung still to his: till, wild, like one possessed,
\nHe dragged himself half free; and, lo, the live
\nFlesh parted; and he laid him down to strive
\nNo more with death, but perish; for the deep
\nHad risen above his soul. And there they sleep,
\nAt last, the old proud father and the bride,
\nEven as his tears had craved it, side by side.
\nFor thee\u2014Oh, no word more! Thyself will know
\nHow best to baffle vengeance. . . . Long ago
\nI looked upon man’s days, and found a grey
\nShadow. And this thing more I surely say,
\nThat those of all men who are counted wise,
\nStrong wits, devisers of great policies,
\nDo pay the bitterest toll. Since life began,
\nHath there in God’s eye stood one happy man?
\nFair days roll on, and bear more gifts or less
\nOf fortune, but to no man happiness.<\/div>\n

[Exit<\/i> Messenger<\/span>.]<\/p>\n

<\/h3>\n\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t

Candela Citations<\/h3>\n\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t
Public domain content<\/div>