JASON. Go! My hand, of its own will,
Is on my sword! Go, while there yet is time!
Often ere this I have thought to make essay
If that stern brow be softer than it seems!
[MEDEA leads the reluctant GORA away, whispering words of comfort as they go. JASON throws himself on a grass-bank, and strikes his breast.]
JASON. O, heart of mine, burst from thy prison-house,
And drink the air!—
Ay, there they lie, fair Corinth's lofty towers,
Marshalled so richly on the ocean-strand,
The cradle of my happy, golden youth!
Unchanging, gilded by the selfsame sun
As then. 'Tis I am altered, and not they.
Ye gods! The morning of my life was bright
And sunny; wherefore is my eventide
So dark and gloomy? Would that it were night!
[MEDEA has brought the two children out of the tent, and now leads them by the hand to JASON.]
MEDEA. See, Jason, thy two babes, who come to greet thee.
Come, children, give your sire your little hands.
[The children draw back, and stand shyly at one side.]
JASON (stretching out his hands yearningly toward the little group.)
Is this the end, then? Do I find myself
Husband and father of a savage brood?
MEDEA. Go, children.
ONE CHILD. Father, is it true thou art
A Greek?