MEDEA. Thou shalt go to her,
E'en to that gentle lady!—How his mien
Is like to his, the traitor's! How his words
Are syllabled like Jason's!—Patience! Wait!
YOUNGER BOY. I'm sleepy!
BOY. Let's lie down and go to sleep.
It's late.
MEDEA. Ye'll have your fill of sleep ere long!
Go, lay you down upon those steps to rest,
While I take counsel with myself.—Ah, see
How watchfully he guides the younger one,
Takes off his little mantle, wraps it warm
And close about his shoulders, now lies down
Beside him, clasping hands!—He never was
A naughty child!—O children, children mine!
BOY (starting up).
Dost want us?
MEDEA. Nay, lie down, and go to sleep!
What would I give, if I could sleep as sound!
[The boy lies down again, and both go to sleep. MEDEA seats herself on a bench opposite the children. It grows darker and darker.]
MEDEA. The night is falling, stars are climbing high,
Shedding their kindly beams on all below—
The same that shone there yestere'en, as though
All things today were as they were before.
And yet 'twixt now and yesterday there yawns
A gulf, as wide as that which sunders joy
Made perfect and grim death! How change-less e'er
Is Nature—and man's life and happiness
How fitful, fleeting!
When I tell the tale
Of my unhappy life, it is as though
I listened, while another told it me,
And now would stop him: "Nay, that cannot be,
My friend! This woman here, that harbors dark
And murderous thoughts—how can she be the same
That once, long years agone, on Colchis' strand
Trod, free and happy, 'neath these very stars,
As pure, as mild, as free from any sin
As new-born child upon its mother's breast?"
Where goes she, then? She seeks the peasant's hut
To comfort the poor serf, whose little crops
Were trampled by her father's huntsmen late,
And brings him gold to ease his bitter heart.
Why trips she down the forest-path? She hastes
To meet her brother who is waiting there
In some green copse. Together then they wend
Homeward their way along the well-known path,
Like twin-stars shining through the forest-gloom.
Another draweth nigh; his brow is crowned
With coronet of gold; he is the King,
Their royal father, and he lays his hand
In blessing on their heads, and names them both
His joy, his dearest treasure.—Welcome, then,
Most dear and friendly faces! Are ye come
To comfort me in this my loneliness?
Draw nearer, nearer yet! I fain would look
Into your eyes! Dear brother, dost thou smile
So friendly on me? Ah, how fair thou art,
My heart's best treasure! But my father's face
Is sober, earnest; yet he loves me still,
Yea, loveth his good daughter!
[She springs up suddenly.]