CREUSA. Hast thou it still?
JASON. Nay, think how many years
Are gone since then, and with them this, thy token,
Blown far by some stray breeze.
MEDEA. I know a song!
JASON (ignoring her).
Then didst thou cry to me, "Farewell, my brother!"
CREUSA. And now my cry is, "Brother, welcome home!"
MEDEA (plaintively).
Jason, I know a song.
CREUSA. She knows a song
That thou wert wont to sing. I pray thee, listen,
And she will sing it thee.
JASON. A song? Well, well!
Where was I, then?—From childhood I was wont
To dream and dream, and babble foolishly
Of things that were not and could never be.
That habit clung to me, and mocks me now.
For, as the youth lives ever in the future,
So the grown man looks alway to the past,
And, young or old, we know not how to live
Within the present. In my dreams I was
A mighty hero, girded for great deeds,
And had a loving wife, and gold, and much
Goodly possessions, and a peaceful home
Wherein slept babes of mine.