Part 13

Since thou has bared thy fell intent to us I, loving thee, and helping in their need Man's laws, adjure thee, dream not of this deed!

MEDEA.

There is no other way.--I pardon thee Thy littleness, who art not wronged like me.

LEADER.

Thou canst not kill the fruit thy body bore!

MEDEA.

Yes: if the man I hate be pained the more.

LEADER.

And thou made miserable, most miserable?

MEDEA.

Oh, let it come! All words of good or ill Are wasted now.

Ho, woman; get thee gone And lead lord Jason hither. . . . There is none Like thee, to work me these high services. But speak no word of what my purpose is, As thou art faithful, thou, and bold to try All succours, and a woman even as I!

* * * * *

CHORUS.

The sons of Erechtheus, the olden, Whom high gods planted of yore In an old land of heaven upholden, A proud land untrodden of war: They are hungered, and, lo, their desire With wisdom is fed as with meat: In their skies is a shining of fire, A joy in the fall of their feet: And thither, with manifold dowers, From the North, from the hills, from the morn, The Muses did gather their powers, That a child of the Nine should be born; And Harmony, sown as the flowers, Grew gold in the acres of corn.

And Cephisus, the fair-flowing river-- The Cyprian dipping her hand Hath drawn of his dew, and the shiver Of her touch is as joy in the land. For her breathing in fragrance is written, And in music her path as she goes, And the cloud of her hair, it is litten With stars of the wind-woven rose. So fareth she ever and ever, And forth of her bosom is blown, As dews on the winds of the river, An hunger of passions unknown. Strong Loves of all godlike endeavour, Whom Wisdom shall throne on her throne.

Some Women.

But Cephisus the fair-flowing, Will he bear thee on his shore? Shall the land that succours all, succour thee, Who art foul among thy kind, With the tears of children blind? Dost thou see the red gash growing, Thine own burden dost thou see? Every side, Every way, Lo, we kneel to thee and pray: By thy knees, by thy soul, O woman wild! One at least thou canst not slay, Not thy child!

Others.

Hast thou ice that thou shalt bind it To thy breast, and make thee dead To thy children, to thine own spirit's pain? When the hand knows what it dares, When thine eyes look into theirs, Shalt thou keep by tears unblinded Thy dividing of the slain? These be deeds Not for thee: These be things that cannot be! Thy babes--though thine hardihood be fell, When they cling about thy knee, 'Twill be well!

Enter JASON.

JASON.

I answer to thy call. Though full of hate Thou be, I yet will not so far abate My kindness for thee, nor refuse mine ear. Say in what new desire thou hast called me here.

MEDEA.

Jason, I pray thee, for my words but now Spoken, forgive me. My bad moods. . . . Oh, thou At least wilt strive to bear with them! There be Many old deeds of love 'twixt me and thee. Lo, I have reasoned with myself apart And chidden: "Why must I be mad, O heart Of mine: and raging against one whose word Is wisdom: making me a thing abhorred To them that rule the land, and to mine own Husband, who doth but that which, being done, Will help us all--to wed a queen, and get Young kings for brethren to my sons? And yet I rage alone, and cannot quit my rage-- What aileth me?--when God sends harbourage So simple? Have I not my children? Know I not we are but exiles, and must go Beggared and friendless else?" Thought upon thought So pressed me, till I knew myself full-fraught With bitterness of heart and blinded eyes. So now--I give thee thanks: and hold thee wise To have caught this anchor for our aid. The fool Was I; who should have been thy friend, thy tool; Gone wooing with thee, stood at thy bed-side Serving, and welcomed duteously thy bride. But, as we are, we are--I will not say Mere evil--women! Why must thou to-day Turn strange, and make thee like some evil thing, Childish, to meet my childish passioning? See, I surrender: and confess that then I had bad thoughts, but now have turned again And found my wiser mind. [She claps her hands. Ho, children! Run Quickly! Come hither, out into the sun,

And greet your father. Welcome him with us, And throw quite, quite away, as mother does, Your anger against one so dear. Our peace Is made, and all the old bad war shall cease For ever.--Go, and take his hand. . . .

Ah me, I am full of hidden horrors! . . . Shall it be A long time more, my children, that ye live To reach to me those dear, dear arms? . . . Forgive! I am so ready with my tears to-day, And full of dread. . . . I sought to smooth away The long strife with your father, and, lo, now I have all drowned with tears this little brow!

LEADER.