Scene II
Medea, before the altar of Hecate.
Medea. Here I invoke you, silent company,
Infernal gods, blind Chaos, sunless home
Of shadowy Dis, and squalid caves of Death
Bound by the banks of Tartarus. Lost souls, 725
For this new bridal leave your wonted toil.
Stand still, thou whirling wheel, Ixion touch
Again firm ground; come, Tantalus, and drink
Unchecked the wave of the Pirenian fount.
Let heavier punishment on Creon wait:— 730
Thou stone of Sisyphus, worn smooth, roll back;
And ye Danaïdes who strive in vain
To fill your leaking jars, I need your aid.
Come at my invocation, star of night,
Endued with form most horrible, nor threat 735
With single face, thou three-formed deity!
To thee, according to my country's use,
With hair unfilleted and naked feet
I've trod the sacred groves; called forth the rain
From cloudless skies; have driven back the sea; 740
And forced the ocean to withdraw its waves.
Earth sees heaven's laws confused, the sun and stars
Shining together, and the two Bears wet
In the forbidden ocean. I have changed
The circle of the seasons:—at my word 745
Earth flourishes with summer; Ceres sees
A winter harvest; Phasis' rushing stream
Flows to its source; the Danube that divides
Into so many mouths restrains its flood
Of waters—hardly moving past its shores. 750
The winds are silent; but the waters speak,
The wild seas roar; the home of ancient groves
Loses its leafy shade; the day withdraws
At my command; the sun stands still in heaven.
My incantations move the Hyades. 755
It is thy hour, Diana!
For thee my bloody hands have wrought this crown
Nine times by serpents girt; those knotted snakes
Rebellious Typhon bore, who made revolt
Against Jove's kingdom; Nessus gave this blood 760
When dying; Œta's funeral pyre provides
These ashes which have drunk the poisoned blood
Of dying Hercules; and here thou seest
Althea's vengeful brand. The harpies left
These feathers in the pathless den they made 765
A refuge when they fled from Zete's wrath;
And these were dropped by the Stymphalian birds
That felt the wound of arrows dipped in blood
Of the Lernæan Hydra.
The altars find a voice, the tripod moves 770
Stirred by the favoring goddess. Her swift car
I see approach—not the full-orbed that rolls
All night through heaven; but as, with darkened light,
Troubled by the Thessalians she comes,
So her sad face upon my altars sheds 775
A murky light. Terrify with new dread
The men of earth! Costly Corinthian brass
Sounds in thy honor, Hecate, and on ground
Made red with blood I pay these solemn rites
To thee; for thee have stolen from the tomb 780
This torch that gives its baleful funeral light;
To thee with bowed head I have made my prayer;
And in accordance with my country's use,
My loose hair filleted, have plucked for thee
This branch that grows beside the Stygian wave; 785
Like a wild Mænad, laying bare my breast,
With sacred knife I cut for thee my arm;
My blood is on the altars! Hand, learn well
To strike thy dearest! See, my blood flows forth!
Daughter of Perseus, have I asked too oft 790
Thine aid? Recall no more my former prayers.
To-day as always I invoke thine aid
For Jason's sake alone! Endue this robe
With such a baleful power that the bride
May feel at its first touch consuming fire 795
Of serpent's poison in her inmost veins;
Let fire lurk hid in the bright gold, the fire
Prometheus gave and taught men how to store—
He now atones his daring theft from heaven
With tortured vitals. Mulciber has given 800
This flame, and I in sulphur nurtured it;
I brought a spark from the destroying fire
Of Phaeton; I have the flame breathed forth
By the Chimæra, and the fire I snatched
From Colchis' savage bull; and mixed with these 805
Medusa's venom. I have bade all serve
My secret sorcery; now, Hecate, add
The sting of poison, aid the seeds of flame
Hid in my gift; let them deceive the sight
But burn the touch; let the heat penetrate 810
Her very heart and veins, stiffen her limbs,
Consume her bones in smoke. Her burning hair
Shall glow more brightly than the nuptial torch!
My vows are paid, and Hecate thrice has barked,
And shaken fire from her funeral torch. 815
'Tis finished! Call my sons. My precious gifts,
Ye shall be borne by them to the new bride.
Go, go, my sons, a hapless mother's sons!
Placate with gifts and prayers your father's wife!
But come again with speed, that I may know 820
A last embrace!
Scene III
Chorus. Where hastes the blood-stained Mænad, headlong driven
By angry love? What mischief plots her rage?
With wrath her face grows rigid; her proud head
She fiercely shakes; threatens the king in wrath. 825
Who would believe her exiled from the realm?
Her cheeks glow crimson, pallor puts to flight
The red, no color lingers on her face;
Her steps are driven to and fro as when
A tiger rages, of its young bereft, 830
Beside the Ganges in the gloomy woods.
Medea knows not how to curb her love
Or hate. Now love and hate together rage.
When will she leave the fair Pelasgian fields,
The wicked Colchian one, and free from fear 835
Our king and kingdom? Drive with no slow rein
Thy car, Diana; let the sweet night hide
The sunlight. Hesperus, end the dreaded day.
ACT V
Scene I
Messenger, Chorus.