My children, go Forth into those rich halls, and, bowing low, Beseech your father's bride, whom I obey, Ye be not, of her mercy, cast away Exiled: and give the caskets--above all Mark this!--to none but her, to hold withal And keep... . Go quick! And let your mother know Soon the good tiding that she longs for... . Go!

[_She goes quickly into the house._ JASON _and the_ CHILDREN _with their_ ATTENDANT _depart_.

CHORUS.

Now I have no hope more of the children's living; No hope more. They are gone forth unto death.

The bride, she taketh the poison of their giving: She taketh the bounden gold and openeth; And the crown, the crown, she lifteth about her brow, Where the light brown curls are cl.u.s.tering. No hope now!

O sweet and cloudy gleam of the garments golden!

The robe, it hath clasped her breast and the crown her head.

Then, then, she decketh the bride, as a bride of olden Story, that goeth pale to the kiss of the dead.

For the ring hath closed, and the portion of death is there; And she flieth not, but perisheth unaware.

_Some Women._

O bridegroom, bridegroom of the kiss so cold, Art thou wed with princes, art thou girt with gold, Who know'st not, suing For thy child's undoing, And, on her thou lovest, for a doom untold?

How art thou fallen from thy place of old!

_Others._

O Mother, Mother, what hast thou to reap, When the harvest cometh, between wake and sleep?

For a heart unslaken, For a troth forsaken, Lo, babes that call thee from a b.l.o.o.d.y deep: And thy love returns not. Get thee forth and weep!

[_Enter the_ ATTENDANT _with the two_ CHILDREN: MEDEA _comes out from the house_.

ATTENDANT.

Mistress, these children from their banishment Are spared. The royal bride hath mildly bent Her hand to accept thy gifts, and all is now Peace for the children.--Ha, why standest thou Confounded, when good fortune draweth near?

MEDEA.

Ah G.o.d!

ATTENDANT.

This chimes not with the news I bear.

MEDEA.

O G.o.d, have mercy!

ATTENDANT.

Is some word of wrath Here hidden that I knew not of? And hath My hope to give thee joy so cheated me?

MEDEA.

Thou givest what thou givest: I blame not thee.

ATTENDANT.

Thy brows are all o'ercast: thine eyes are filled... .

MEDEA.

For bitter need, Old Man! The G.o.ds have willed, And my own evil mind, that this should come.

ATTENDANT.

Take heart! Thy sons one day will bring thee home.

MEDEA.

Home? ... I have others to send home. Woe's me!

ATTENDANT.

Be patient. Many a mother before thee Hath parted from her children. We poor things Of men must needs endure what fortune brings.

MEDEA.

I will endure.--Go thou within, and lay All ready that my sons may need to-day.

[_The_ ATTENDANT _goes into the house_.

O children, children mine: and you have found A land and home, where, leaving me discrowned And desolate, forever you will stay, Motherless children! And I go my way To other lands, an exile, ere you bring Your fruits home, ere I see you prospering Or know your brides, or deck the bridal bed, All flowers, and lift your torches overhead.

Oh cursed be mine own hard heart! 'Twas all In vain, then, that I reared you up, so tall And fair; in vain I bore you, and was torn With those long pitiless pains, when you were born.

Ah, wondrous hopes my poor heart had in you, How you would tend me in mine age, and do The shroud about me with your own dear hands, When I lay cold, blessed in all the lands That knew us. And that gentle thought is dead!

You go, and I live on, to eat the bread Of long years, to myself most full of pain.

And never your dear eyes, never again, Shall see your mother, far away being thrown To other shapes of life... . My babes, my own, Why gaze ye so?--What is it that ye see?-- And laugh with that last laughter? ... Woe is me, What shall I do?

Women, my strength is gone, Gone like a dream, since once I looked upon Those shining faces... . I can do it not.

Good-bye to all the thoughts that burned so hot Aforetime! I will take and hide them far, Far, from men's eyes. Why should I seek a war So blind: by these babes' wounds to sting again Their father's heart, and win myself a pain Twice deeper? Never, never! I forget Henceforward all I laboured for.

And yet, What is it with me? Would I be a thing Mocked at, and leave mine enemies to sting Unsmitten? It must be. O coward heart, Ever to harbour such soft words!--Depart Out of my sight, ye twain. [_The_ CHILDREN _go in_.

And they whose eyes Shall hold it sin to share my sacrifice, On their heads be it! My hand shall swerve not now.

Ah, Ah, thou Wrath within me! Do not thou, Do not... . Down, down, thou tortured thing, and spare My children! They will dwell with us, aye, there Far off, and give thee peace.

Too late, too late!

By all h.e.l.l's living agonies of hate, They shall not take my little ones alive To make their mock with! Howsoe'er I strive The thing is doomed; it shall not escape now From being. Aye, the crown is on the brow, And the robe girt, and in the robe that high Queen dying.

I know all. Yet ... seeing that I Must go so long a journey, and these twain A longer yet and darker, I would fain Speak with them, ere I go.

[_A handmaid brings the_ CHILDREN _out again_.

Come, children; stand A little from me. There. Reach out your hand, Your right hand--so--to mother: and good-bye!

[_She has kept them hitherto at arm's length: but at the touch of their hands, her resolution breaks down, and she gathers them pa.s.sionately into her arms._

Oh, darling hand! Oh, darling mouth, and eye, And royal mien, and bright brave faces clear, May you be blessed, but not here! What here Was yours, your father stole... . Ah G.o.d, the glow Of cheek on cheek, the tender touch; and Oh, Sweet scent of childhood... . Go! Go! ... Am I blind? ...