For the shamefastness now from her eyes on the wings of love had flown:
‘But O remember, if ever thou com’st to thine home afar,
Medea’s name: and in like wise I, when sundered we are,
Will forget thee not. But tell, of thy good will, where is thine home, {1070}
Whitherward bound thou wilt fare in thy galley over the foam.
Is it unto Orchomenus’ wealthy burg that thy feet shall go?
Or anigh to Aiaia’s isle? Of the maiden fain would I know,
Some maiden far-renowned, whom thou namedst the daughter, I wis,
Of Pasiphaê: kinswoman unto my sire that lady is.’
So did she speak; and over him stole, as the maiden wept,