MEDEA. My babes! My babes!
GORA. Forth must we flee ere night shall fall,
And already the twilight draweth down.
Up! Rouse thee, and gird thee for flight!
Swiftly they come to slay!
MEDEA. Alas, my children!
GORA. Nay, up! I say, unhappy one,
Nor kill me with thy cries of woe!
Hadst thou but heeded when I warned,
Still should we be at home
In Colchis, safe; thy kinsmen yet
Were living; all were well with us.
Rise up! What use are tears? Come, rise!
[MEDEA drags herself half up and kneels on the steps.]
MEDEA. 'Twas so I knelt, 'twas so I lay
And stretched my hands for pity out
To mine own children; begged and wept
And prayed for one, for only one
Of my dear children! Death itself
Were not so bitter, as to leave
One of them here!—But to have none—!
And neither came! They turned away
With terror on their baby lips,
And fled for comfort to the breast
Of her—my bitterest enemy!
[She springs up suddenly.]
But he,—he laughed to see, and she
Did laugh as well!
GORA. O, woe is me!
O, woe and heavy sorrow!
MEDEA. O gods, is this your vengeance, then,
Your retribution? All for love
I followed him, as wife should e'er
Follow her lord. My father died,
But was it I that slew him? No!
My brother fell. Was't, then, my hand
That dealt the stroke? I've wept for them
With heavy mourning, poured hot tears
To serve as sad libation for
Their resting-place so far away!
Ye gods! These woes so measureless
That I have suffered at your hands—
Call ye these justice,—retribution?