My parents’ home, nor the town, but my dwelling afar had been
At the ends of the earth, where never was heard the Kolchian name!’ {680}
She spake: but Medea’s cheeks flushed crimson; and maiden shame
From the answer she yearned full sore to render withheld her long.
And now was the word awake, and fluttered upon her tongue,
And backward anon to her breast it flew like a startled bird.
And often she parted her lovely lips to utter the word;
Yet fainted her voice on the threshold of speech: but at last of her guile
Thus spake she—and ever the bold Loves thrust her onward the while:
‘O Chalkiopê, mine heart for thy sons is disquieted sore,
Lest my father destroy them forthright with the men from the alien shore;
So ghastly a dream, while a moment I slumbered, but now did I see— {690}
And oh may the Gods forefend that the vision accomplished should be,
Forbid that thy love for thy sons should be made heart-anguish to thee!’
So spake she, proving her sister, longing to hear her pray,
Unprompted of her, for her help for her sons in the evil day.
Strong anguish swept o’er the mother’s soul like a surging tide,
For her terror at that she had heard, and with fervent beseeching she cried:
‘Yea, and to this same end did I come with eager speed,
If with me thou wouldst haply devise and prepare some help for our need.
But swear thou by Earth and by Heaven that thou wilt conceal in thine heart
Whatsoever I say unto thee, and wilt bear therein thy part. {700}
By the Blessèd I pray thee, by thine own soul, by thy parents’ name,
That thou see not my sons in torment destroyed by a doom of shame
Horribly: else with my dear-loved sons will I die, and come
A hateful vengeance-spirit to haunt thee from Hades’ home!’
So spake she, and straightway gushed her tears in torrent flow;
And around her knees did she fling her arms in a passion of woe,
And adown on her bosom she bowed her head; and there they two
Over each other made piteous lament, and the dim halls through
Went wailing low the sound of anguished women’s cry.
And to her disquieted sorely Medea made reply: {710}
‘God help thee!—what healing can I bring thee?—what talk is thine
Of horrible curses and vengeance-spirits!—would God it were mine,
Mine by a power firm-stablished, to save thy sons from bane!
Be witness—the mighty oath of the Kolchians, the oath thou art fain
I should swear—be witness the broad-arched Heaven, and the Earth below,
Mother of Gods, that, so far as the bounds of my strength may go,
I will fail thee not, if thy prayer be a boon that man may bestow.’
So spake she, and Chalkiopê made answer to her, and she said:
‘Now couldst thou not dare for the stranger—himself too asketh thine aid—
By wile or by wisdom achievement of this emprise to win {720}
For the sake of my sons? Lo, now is his messenger Argus within,
Praying that I would essay to win for them help of thy grace.
In the mid-court left I him when I came to seek thy face.’
So spake she, and bounded within her Medea’s heart for delight:
Her fair skin suddenly crimsoned, and swam before her sight
A mist, as she flushed and burned; and answer she made thereunto:
‘Chalkiopê, according to that which is pleasing to you,
Even so will I do. May I see with mine eyes the dawn not again,
Nor mayst thou behold me long in the land of living men,
If I count aught dearer to me than the lives of thee and thine, {730}
Even thy sons: for verily these be brethren mine,
My kinsmen belovèd, my childhood-playmates: myself I call
Thine own, own sister, my sister’s own little daughter withal,
Since even as them the baby me to thy breast didst thou hold:
So still have I heard the tale by the lips of my mother told.
But go thou, in silence bury this my kindness, that so
I may work out unwares to my parents my promise. At dawn will I go
Unto Hekatê’s fane, to bear thither the drugs that shall cast a spell
On the bulls for the stranger for whose sake all this strife befell.’
So the mother returned from the chamber, and spake to her sons full fain {740}
Of her sister’s help. But now did the tide of shame again
And of terrible fear o’er the soul of Medea in solitude rise,
That she in her sire’s despite for a man such deeds should devise.
Then night drew darkness over the earth; on the lonely sea
The sailors gazed from their ships on the Bear and the flashing three
Of Orion; and came upon every wayfarer longing for sleep,
And on each gate-warder; and mothers, that daylong wont to weep
For children dead, with the peace of slumber were folded around.
No barking of dogs through the city there was any more, no sound
Of voices, but all the blackening gloom was with silence bound. {750}
But not o’er Medea did sleep sweet dews of forgetfulness shake;
For many a care in her yearning for Jason held her awake,
Adread of the mighty strength of the bulls, ’neath the fury of whom
He must die in the War-god’s acre, must die by a shameful doom.
And with thick fast throbbings struggled the heart in her breast alway;
As when on the wall of a dwelling the leaping sunbeams play
Flung up from the water that into a caldron but now fell plashing,
Or into a pail, and hither and thither the sunbeam flashing
In lightning eddy and flicker is dancing in mad unrest,
So quivered and fluttered the heart within the maiden’s breast. {760}
And the tears from her eyes were flowing for ruth, and through all her frame
Like a smouldering fire her anguish burned, and coiled its flame
Round every fine-strung nerve, and thrilled to her beating brain
Where sharpest of all the pang strikes in, when the shafts of pain
Are shot to the heart by the Loves that rest them never from harm.
And now did she say that the drugs she would give that should bind with a charm
The bulls, and now would she not, but with him would she cease to live.
Swift changed her mood: she would not die, she, nor the drugs would she give,
But in silence endure her fate, the curse that was doomed to betide.
Then, there as she sat, she wavered this way and that, and she cried: {770}
‘Oh hapless I, whether this way or that into ruin I fall!
On every hand is despair for my soul: no help is at all
From woe, but it burneth, a furnace unquenchèd!—would God it had been
Mine to be slain ere this by the shafts of the Huntress-queen,
Or ever I saw him, or came to Achaia-land the sons
Of Chalkiopê, whom a God, or the awful Avenging Ones
Hither, for sorrow to us, and for many a tear, have led!
—Let him perish amidst of the struggle, if this be his weird, to be sped
On the fallows of doom!—for how shall I ’scape my parents’ ken
As the drugs I prepare? With what manner of words shall I blind them then? {780}
What wile, what cunning device for mine hero’s help shall I find?
If I see him apart from his friends, shall I meet him with greeting kind?
O ill-starred!—though he should die, yet cannot I hope that so
Assuaging should come of my pain: nay, this should be but for my woe
If he of his life were bereft—oh, get thee behind me, shame!
Beauty, avaunt!—So scatheless by mine endeavour he came
Out of peril, then might he fare wheresoever seemeth him best.
But for me—on the selfsame day when triumphant he bideth the test,
Then let me die, from the rafters straining my neck in the noose,
Or tasting of poisons that rend the soul from the body loose. {790}
Ah, but after my dying!—what scoffs and what mocks will they fling
On my grave!—and far and near how every city will ring
With the tale of my doom; and from lip to lip shall be tossed the jeer,
And a mock shall I be in the mouths of the daughters of Kolchis that sneer,
“Lo, she that so lovingly cared for a man of an alien race
That she died!—lo, she that on home and on parents heaped disgrace,
Giving reins to her lust!” What shame should not be loaded on me?
Ah me, my infatuate folly!—better by far should it be
In this same night to forsake my life these chambers within
By a fate of mystery, ’scaping from slander’s fiendish din, {800}
Or ever that hideous befouling, that nameless defilement, I win!’
She spake, and she rose, and a casket she brought, wherein there lay
Many a drug, some helpful to heal, some mighty to slay.
On her knees she laid it, and brake into weeping: her bosom-fold
Was wet with her tears; from the wounds unstanched of her heart they rolled,
As she bitterly wailed for her fate: and her soul was exceeding fain
To choose her a murderous drug, and to taste oblivion of pain.
And the eager fingers now of the hapless maid ’gan part
The bands of the casket, to take it forth—but, with sudden start,
With an awful fear of Hades the hateful shuddered her heart. {810}
Long spellbound sat she in speechless horror: around her thronged
Visions of all sweet things for the which through life she had longed.
She thought of the hours delightsome the lot of the living that fill,
And she thought of her merry playmates, even as a maiden will.
And sweeter than ever was grown the sun unto her to behold—
No marvel, seeing she yearned for all so passionate-souled!
So she put from her knees the casket, and laid it down again
All changed by the promptings of Hêrê: no more did she waver then
In her purpose; but now did she long for the dawning with speed to awake,
For the dayspring to rise, that so to her hero the drugs she might take {820}
For the spell, as her covenant pledged her, and meet him face to face.
And many a time she unbarred the doors of her chamber, to gaze
Forth for the far faint gleam, and welcome flashed upon her
The Child of the Mist, and throughout the city the folk ’gan stir.
Then Argus spake to his brethren, bidding them there to abide
To learn the mind of the maiden, and how should her purpose betide;
But himself turned backward again, and unto the galley he hied.
Now soon as the maiden beheld the splendour of dawn outrolled
O’er the heavens, gathered she up with her hands her tresses of gold,
Which over her shoulders in careless disarray hung loose: {830}
And she bathed her feverish cheeks, and with perfume shed from the cruse
All nectar-scented her body shone; and a robe fair-wrought
She donned, and with brooches cunningly-fashioned its folds upcaught.
And the cloud of a veil did she cast o’er her head unearthly fair,
And as silver it shimmered: she trode the floors of the palace there
Pacing unfaltering to and fro, forgetful of all
Those heaven-sent woes at the door, and of others that yet should befall.
And she summoned her bower-maidens; twelve by tale were they:
Through the night at the entering-in of her odorous chamber they lay,
Young as herself, nor yet on the bridal couch embraced. {840}
And these she commanded to harness the mules to the wain in haste
To bear their lady to Hekatê’s passing-beautiful fane.
Wherefore the bower-maidens hasted and harnessed the mules to the wain.
And Medea the while took forth from the casket a drug of might,
The magic root that they say is the Herb of Prometheus hight.
For if any with midnight sacrifice upon Daira shall call,
The only-begotten, and smear his body therewithal,
No stroke of brazen weapon shall wound the flesh of him,
No, nor from blazing fire shall he flinch; but his strength of limb
And his prowess throughout that day shall all their might confound. {850}
First-born it upshot from the clod in the hour when dropped to the ground
From the ravening eagle’s beak, where the crags of Caucasus frowned,
The ichor, the blood of a God, of Prometheus in torments bound.
And the flower of it blossomed a cubit the face of the earth above:
As the glow of the crocus Corycian, so was the hue thereof,
Upborne upon pale stalks twain, and below in its earthy bed
The root thereof as flesh new-severed was crimson-red.
And the blood thereof, like a mountain-oak’s dark sap, in a shell
From Caspian strand she gathered, to weave thereof a spell,
When seven times she had bathed her in waters unresting that glide, {860}
And seven times upon Brimo the Nursing-mother had cried—
Night-wandering Brimo, the Underworld Goddess, the Queen of the dead—
And in dusky vesture clad through the blackness of night did she tread.
And the dark earth shuddered and quaked deep down with muttering moan,
As the Titan root was severed; yea, and Iapetus’ son
In frenzy of heart-wringing agony groaned a fearful groan.
This, from the casket ta’en, in her odorous girdle she laid,
The girdle enclasping the waist divinely sweet of the maid.
Then forth of the portal she paced, and she set her foot on the wain,
And beside her went upon either hand bower-maidens twain. {870}
To her left hand gave they the reins, and the fair-fashioned whip hath she ta’en
In her right; and adown through the city she drave; and the rest of the train
Of her handmaids laid their hands on the wain, behind it to run
Adown the highway broad, for their tunics delicate-spun
Each maiden had kilted up above her ivory knee.
’Twas as when, where Parthenius’ soft-flowing ripples slide through the lea,
Or as when, coming up from her bath in Amnisus’ crystalline water,
High-borne on her golden chariot rideth Latona’s Daughter,
Driving betwixt the hills the fleetfoot roes of her car,
To greet the sacrifice-steam of a hecatomb afar; {880}
And the Nymphs in throngs upon throngs attend her, gathering some
By the green well-head of Amnisus’ self, and others that come
By the glens and the fountain-flashing heights; and fawn and whine
The cowering beasts, as onward cometh the presence divine:
So through the city they sped, and to this side and that of the street
The people made way, neither dared they the eyes of the princess to meet.
But when she had left behind her the city’s fair-paved ways,
And was now drawn nigh, as she drave through the plain, to the holy place,
Then from the smooth-running wain she stept to the earth straightway
In haste; and unto her maidens thus did Medea say: {890}
‘O friends, I have verily grievously sinned, for I took no thought
To have nought to do with the strangers whose wandering feet have sought
Our land:—lo now, with amazement’s perplexity smitten sore
Is all the city, that none of the women, which heretofore
Hitherward have assembled day by day, be now gathered here.
But seeing that we be come, and that none beside draweth near,
Come then, with delightsome song without stint or stay let us sing
To our soul’s satisfying, and pluck we the lovely flowers that spring
Mid the tender grass; and in this same hour on the homeward way
Will we wend. Ye also with many a gift shall return this day {900}
Homeward, if now with mine heart’s desire ye will gladden me.
For the pleading of Argus prevaileth with me, and of Chalkiopê:—
But hide in your hearts that ye hear from me; let your lips be dumb,
Lest to my father’s ears peradventure the story should come:—
They beseech me to take rich gifts, and to save in his emprise fell
Yon stranger who took it upon him the might of the bulls to quell.
Yea, and their counsel was good in mine eyes, that I bade him appear
In my presence this day, alone, with none of his comrades near,
That we may divide those presents amongst us, if haply he bring
The gifts in his hand, and may give him a spell-drug, a balefuller thing {910}
Than the strength of the bulls. But stand ye aloof when he draweth anigh.’
So spake she, and pleased them all her counsel of subtlety.
Now Argus apart from his comrades had sundered Aison’s son,
So soon as he heard from his brethren how that Medea had gone
Forth in the misty dawning to fare unto Hekatê’s fane;
And over the plain did he lead him, and Mopsus companioned the twain,
Ampykus’ son, most wise to interpret the tokens aright
Of the coming of birds, and the signs to discern of their parting flight.
Never yet had there been such a man in the days of the men of old—
Nor of them of the lineage of Zeus, nor the champions hero-souled {920}
Which sprang from the blood of the rest of the Gods that endure for aye—
Such a man as the bride of Zeus made Jason to be that day
In glory of bodily presence, in witchery of his tongue.
And ever his comrades gazing upon him in wonderment hung
On his radiance of manifold grace: and glad for the way they should wend
Waxed Ampykus’ son, as foreboding, I trow, how all should end.
Now there is by the path through the plain, as ye draw to the temple anigh,
A poplar that waveth his tresses of countless leaves on high;
And thereon had the crows ever-babbling pitched as it were their tent,
Whereof one, clapping her pinions, beneath her as these twain went, {930}
The counsel of Hêrê chanted, mid high boughs swayed to and fro:
‘Lo there, what a pitiful seer!—even that which the children know
His wit can in no wise conceive, how that no word sweet and dear
Maiden will murmur to man, while strangers be loitering near!
Avaunt, vile prophet and witless!—on thee not the Cyprian Queen,
On thee not the gentle Loves of their kindness are breathing, I ween!’
So ceased the voice of her chiding, and Mopsus smiled to hear
The heaven-sent cry of the bird, and spake to the heroes the seer:
‘Now pass thou on to the Goddess’s temple: therein shalt thou find
The maiden, O Aison’s son: thou shalt prove her passing kind {940}
By the promptings of Kypris, who also thine helper shall be in thy toil,
Even as prophesied Phineus, Agênor’s son, erewhile.
But we twain, Argus and I, thy coming again will abide
Aloof, yea, in this same place: but thou, with none beside,
With wise words plead with the maiden, and win her thy will to do.’
So in his wisdom he spake, and the others consented thereto.
But Medea—her thoughts unto nought else turned, upon nought could be stayed,
Howsoever she sang—but never a song, howsoe’er she essayed,
Pleased her, that long its melody winged her feet for the dance;
But ever she faltered amidst them, her eyes ever wandered askance {950}
Away from the throng of her maidens unresting; and over the ways,
Turning aside her cheeks, far off ever strained she her gaze.
O the heart in her breast oft fainted, whenever in fancy she heard
Fleet past her the sound of a footfall, the breath of a breeze as it stirred.
But it was not long ere the hero appeared to her yearning eyes
Stately striding, as out of the ocean doth Sirius uprise,
Who climbeth the sky most glorious and clear to discern from afar,
But unto the flocks for measureless mischief a baleful star:
Even so came Aison’s son to the maiden glorious to see,—
But with Jason’s appearing dawned on her troublous misery. {960}
Then it seemed as her heart dropped out of her bosom; a dark mist came
Over her eyes, and hot in her cheeks did the blushes flame.
Nor backward nor forward a step could she stir: all strength was gone
From her knees; and her feet to the earth seemed rooted; and one after one
Her handmaidens all drew back, and with him was she left alone.
So these twain stood—all stirless and wordless stood face to face:
As oaks they seemed, or as pines upsoaring in stately grace,
Which side by side all still mid the mountains rooted stand
When winds are hushed; but by breath of the breeze when at last they are fanned,
Stir they with multitudinous murmur and sigh—so they {970}
By love’s breath stirred were to pour out all in their hearts that lay.
Then Aison’s son beheld how the maiden’s soul was adread
With wilderment heaven-sent, and kindly-courteous he said:
‘Wherefore, O maiden, dost fear me so sorely, alone as I am?
Never was I as the loud-tongued blusterers, void of shame,
No, not when aforetime I dwelt in my fatherland oversea:
Wherefore be thou not, maiden, over-abashed before me,
That thou shouldst not inquire whatsoever thou wilt, or utter thy mind.
But, seeing we twain be met with friendly hearts and kind
In a place where sin is of heaven accurst, in a hallowed spot, {980}
Speak thou, and question withal as thou wilt: but beguile me not
With pleasant words, forasmuch as thou gavest thy promise erewhile
To thy sister, to give me the charm that I long for, the herbs of guile.
I beseech thee in Hekatê’s name—for the sake of thy parents I pray,
And of Zeus, that o’er stranger and suppliant stretcheth his hand alway!
Lo, a suppliant am I, a stranger withal, which am come to thee here,
In sore straits bending the knee; for in this my task of fear
Shall I nowise prevail, except I be holpen of thine and thee.
And to thee will I render requital of thanks in the days to be—
As is meet and right for them in a far-away land which dwell— {990}
Making glorious thy name and thy fame, and mine hero-companions shall tell
The story of thy renown, when to Hellas again they have won;
Yea, and the heroes’ wives and mothers, who now make moan
For us, I ween, on the strand as they sit by the sighing brine:
And to scatter in air their bitter affliction is thine—is thine!
Not I were the first—was Theseus not saved from the ordeal grim
By Minos’ child for her kindness’ sake which she bare unto him,
Ariadne, born of the Sun-god’s daughter Pasiphaê?
But she, when slumbered the wrath of Minos, over the sea
Sailed with the hero, forsaking her land. The Immortals divine {1000}
Loved well that maid: in the midst of the firmament set is her sign,
A crown of stars, which they name Ariadne’s diadem,
All night circling amidst of the signs that the heavens begem.
Thou also shalt have of the Gods like thanks, if thou shalt redeem
From destruction so goodly a host of heroes—ah, needs must it seem
That through form so lovely as thine should the beauty of kindness beam!’
Extolling her so spake he; and her eyelids drooped, while played
A nectar-smile on her lips; and melted the heart of the maid
By his praising uplifted: her eyes are a moment upraised to his eyes,
And all speech faileth: no word at the first to her lips may rise; {1010}
But in one breath yearned she to speak forth all her joy and her pain.
And with hand ungrudging forth from her odorous zone hath she ta’en
The charm, and he straightway received it into his hands full fain.
Yea, now would she even have drawn forth all her soul from her breast,
And had laid it with joy in his hands for her gift, had he made request,
So wondrously now from the golden head of Aison’s son
Did Love out-lighten the witchery-flame; and her sweet eyes shone
With the gleam that he stole therefrom, and her heart glowed through and through
Melting for rapture away, from the lips of the rose as the dew
At the sun’s kiss melteth away, when the dayspring is kindled anew. {1020}
And these twain now on the earth were fixing their eyes abashed,
And anon yet again their glances each on the other they flashed,
As with radiant eyelids they smiled a heart-beguiling smile:
And bespake him the maiden at last, yet scarce after all this while:
‘Give thou heed now, that my counsel may haply be for thine aid.
What time at thy coming my father within thine hands shall have laid
The crop of the serpent’s jaws for thy sowing, the teeth of bane,
Then shalt thou watch for the hour when the night is sundered in twain.
Then thou, when first in the river’s tireless flow thou hast bathed,
Alone, with none other beside thee, in night-hued vesture swathed, {1030}
Shalt dig thee a rounded pit, and over the dark earth-bowl
Shalt thou slaughter a ewe, and shalt burn the unsevered carcase whole
On a pyre, the which on the very brink of the pit thou hast piled,
And propitiate only-begotten Hekatê, Perseus’ child,
Out of a chalice pouring the hive-stored toil of the bee.
So when thou hast sought the grace of the Goddess heedfully,
Then turn thee to pass from the pyre, and beware lest any sound
Or of footfalls behind thee startle thee, so that thou turn thee round,
Or of baying of hounds, lest all that is wrought be undone thereby,
And thyself to thine hero-companions never again draw nigh. {1040}
And in water at dawn shalt thou steep this herb, and thy limbs shalt thou bare,
And even as with oil shalt anoint thee therewith; and prowess there
Shalt thou find, and strength exceeding great: thou wouldst nowise say
That with men thou couldst match thee in might, but with Gods that abide for aye.
Therewithal be thy lance and thy buckler besprent with the magic dew,
And thy sword: then shall not the spear-heads prevail to pierce thee through
Of the Earth-born men, nor the fiery breath of the bulls of bane
Unendurably darting. Yet no long time shalt thou thus remain,
But only for that same day: notwithstanding flinch not thou
From the toil; and another thing yet for thine help will I tell to thee now: {1050}
So soon as the mighty bulls thou hast yoked, and by manifold toil
And by strength of thine hands hast sped the share through the stubborn soil,
And adown the furrows the bristling harvest of giants shall stand,
Where fell on the dusky clods the serpent’s teeth from thine hand,
Even as thou mark’st them in throngs through the fallows upbursting to day,
Cast thou in their midst unawares a massy stone: and they,
As ravening hounds o’er a gobbet of flesh that wrangle, shall slay
Each one his fellow: thou also in battle-fury shalt fall
On the rout. So the Golden Fleece unto Hellas, if this be all,
From Aia afar shalt thou bear:—O yea, turn thou and depart {1060}
Whithersoever it pleaseth thee: seek the desire of thine heart!’
She spake, and her eyes to the earth at her feet in silence she cast;
And her cheeks divinely fair were wet as her tears fell fast,
As she sorrowed because that far and afar from her side o’er the main
He must wander away. And she looked in his eyes, and she spake yet again
With mournful word, and his right hand now hath she ta’en in her own;
For the shamefastness now from her eyes on the wings of love had flown:
‘But O remember, if ever thou com’st to thine home afar,
Medea’s name: and in like wise I, when sundered we are,
Will forget thee not. But tell, of thy good will, where is thine home, {1070}
Whitherward bound thou wilt fare in thy galley over the foam.
Is it unto Orchomenus’ wealthy burg that thy feet shall go?
Or anigh to Aiaia’s isle? Of the maiden fain would I know,
Some maiden far-renowned, whom thou namedst the daughter, I wis,
Of Pasiphaê: kinswoman unto my sire that lady is.’
So did she speak; and over him stole, as the maiden wept,
Love the victorious; and answering speech to his lips hath leapt:
‘Yea, verily, never by night, I ween, and by day nevermore
Shalt thou be forgotten of me, if unto Achaia’s shore
Unscathed I shall ’scape indeed, and Aiêtes before me set, {1080}
For mine hands to achieve, none other toil more desperate yet.
But if this hath pleased thee, to learn what land I call mine own,
I will tell thee—yea, and mine own heart biddeth me make it known
A country there is—steep mountain-ramparts around it run—
A land of streams and of pastures, wherein Iapetus’ son,
Even Prometheus, begat the valiant Deukalion,
Who of all men was first that builded a city, or reared a fane
To the Deathless, and first was he of the kings over men that reign.
That land do the folk that around it dwell Haimonia call.
Therein is my city Iolkos found: therein withal {1090}
Stand many beside, where not so much have they heard as the name
Of Aiaia’s isle: but rumour hath told how Minyas came
Thereout, even Minyas Aiolus’ son, and builded the town
Of Orchomenus; over the marches Kadmeian her towers look down.
Yet why should I speak things vain as the wild winds’ empty sound
Of our home, of the daughter of Minos, the princess far-renowned
Ariadne—the glorious name whereby that heart’s desire
Was called among men, the maiden of whom thou dost inquire?
Would God that, even as Minos his heart unto Theseus inclined
For her sake, so would thy father with me be in friendship joined!’ {1100}
So spake he, with tender words and caressing the maiden to woo.
But anguish exceeding bitter was thrilling the heart of her through:
And in sorrow of spirit with vehement words she made reply:
‘O haply in Hellas ’tis good to be heedful of friendship’s tie:
But Aiêtes is not such a man among men as thou saidst but now
Was Minos, Pasiphaê’s lord; and with Ariadne, I trow,
May I nowise compare me: wherefore of guest-love speak not thou.
Only remember thou me, when safe thou hast sped thy flight
To Iolkos; and I will remember—yea, in my parents’ despite
Will remember thee: and from far may a rumour come unto me, {1110}
Or a messenger-bird with the tidings, when I am forgotten of thee!
Or me, even me, may the swift-winged blasts from the earth’s breast tear,
And away hence over the sea to the land of Iolkos bear,
That so I might cast reproaches on thee, yea, unto thy face,
And remind thee that all by mine help thou escapedst—but oh that my place
That day were of right in thine halls, the place of a queen at the board!’
So spake she, and down her cheeks the piteous tears aye poured.
But he caught up her words even there, and with comforting speech did he say:
‘O stricken one, leave thou the empty blasts at their will to stray,
And the messenger-bird to roam, for thy words are but vanity! {1120}
But if ever thou come unto those abodes, if Hellas thou see,
Honour and worship of men and of women then shall be thine;
Yea, they shall reverence thee as a very presence divine,
Because that again to their homes did the sons of the Hellenes win
By thy devising, yea, and the brethren of these, and their kin;
And many a stalwart husband of thee hath received his life.
Then shalt thou enter the bridal bower with me—my wife;
And nothing shall come between our love, and nothing shall sunder,
Till death’s shroud fold us around, and our hearts are chilled thereunder.’
He spake, and to hear him her soul was melted within her then: {1130}
Yet she shuddered to see the deeds whose end was beyond her ken.
Ah hapless!—not long was she doomed to refuse a home in the land
Of Hellas, for hereunto was she guided of Hêrê’s hand,
To the end that for Pelias’ bane Aiaian Medea might come
Unto Iolkos the hallowed, forsaking her fatherland-home.
But by this from afar were the handmaids glancing towards these twain
Full oft in disquiet; for need was now, as the day ’gan wane,
That the maiden unto her mother should turn her homeward again.
But she thought not yet of departing, such joy did her spirit take
Alike in his goodlihead, and the winsome words that he spake. {1140}
But Aison’s son took heed, and late and at last did he say:
‘Lo now, it is time to depart, lest the sun’s light fade away
Before we be ware, and lest some stranger should haply espy
All this. Yet again will we meet, coming hitherward, thou and I.’
So in sweetest communion did these try each the other’s heart
Thus far; and thereafter they sundered. And now did Jason depart
Unto his friends and the ship, while his heart for joy beat high;
And she to her handmaids, and all in a troop did these draw nigh
To meet her: she marked them not, as unto her side they drew;
For her soul to the clouds had soared far up ’twixt earth and the blue. {1150}
And with feet that moved in a dream she mounted the fleet-running wain:
In her left hand grasped she the reins, in her right the whip hath she ta’en
Curious-fashioned, to drive the mules; and fast did they flee,
As on to the city they sped and the palace; and Chalkiopê
’Gan ask her of all that befell, for her sons’ sake anguish-stirred;
But rapt in a trance of thoughts back-drifting she heard not a word,
And to all that eager questioning never a word she said:
But adown on a lowly stool did she sit at the foot of the bed,
On her left hand propping her cheek as she wearily drooped aside;
And with tears were her eyes brimming over, as surged the dark chill tide {1160}
Of remembrance of emprise dread that the covenant bound her to bide.
Now when Aison’s son had wended aback to the place where stayed
His comrades, what time he had left them in faring to meet the maid.
Then, telling them all the story the while, with these did he hie
To the throng of the heroes; and now to the galley drew they anigh.
And they saw him, and lovingly greeted, and asked him of all that befell:
And he in the midst of them all did the maiden’s counsels tell;
And he showed them the dread spell-drug. One only of all sat apart,
Idas, nursing his wrath: but the others with joyful heart
Turned them, when darkness fell, their hands from their labour to stay, {1170}
And in great peace laid them down to their rest: but with dawning day
To Aiêtes, to ask for the seed of the serpent, sent they away
Two men; and foremost Telamon Arês-beloved they sent,
And Aithalides, glorious scion of Hermes, beside him went.
So went they, and not for nought, for to these at their coming were given
Of Aiêtes the king the teeth for the grim strife hard to be striven,
The teeth of the dragon Aonian, that, seeking the wide world through
For Europa, Kadmus found in Ogygian Thêbê, and slew,
The monster that lurked, a warder, beside the Aretian spring.
There also he dwelt, by the heifer led, which Apollo the king {1180}
By the word of prophecy gave for his guide, that he should not stray.
These teeth did Tritonis the Goddess tear from its jawbone away,
And the gift on Aiêtes and him that had slain the beast she bestowed.
On the plain Aonian Kadmus the teeth of the serpent sowed;
And an earth-born nation was founded there of Agênor’s son,
The remnant left when the harvest of Arês’ spear was done.
So the teeth to bear to the galley Aiêtes gave full fain,
For he weened that to win to the goal of his task he should strive in vain,
Yea, though to the yoking of those dread bulls he should haply attain.
And the sun down under the dark earth far away in the west, {1190}
Beyond the uttermost hills of the Aethiops, sank to his rest;
And the Night was laying her yoke on the necks of her steeds. Then spread
On the shore by the hawsers of Argo the heroes each his bed.
But Jason, so soon as the flashing stars of the circling Bear
Had set, and under the firmament hushed was all the air,
Unto the wilderness even as a thief all stealthily hied
With whatso was needful; for all had he taken thought to provide
In the day: and fared with him Argus, and milk from the flock he bore,
And a ewe therewithal; for these had he ta’en from the galley’s store.
But when he beheld the place, which was far aloof from the tread {1200}
Of men, where under the unscreened sky the clear meads spread,
There first of all in the flow of the sacred river he bathed
His limbs full reverently, and all his body he swathed
In a dark-hued cloak, which Hypsipylê, daughter of Lemnos’ race,
Gave him aforetime, memorial of many a loving embrace.
Thereafter he digged him a pit in the plain of a cubit wide,
And the billets he heaped, and the lamb’s throat cut by the dark pit’s side.
And the carcase he stretched on the pile, and he thrust thereunder the fire
And kindled the brands, and mingled libations he poured on the pyre,
Calling on Hekatê Brimo to draw for his helper nigh. {1210}
And when he had called on her, backward he fared, and she hearkened his cry.
Out of nethermost caverns of darkness the Awful Queen drew near
To the Aisonid’s sacrifice, and about her did shapes of fear,
Even serpents, in horrible wreaths and knots, mid the oak-boughs hang:
And flashed a fitful splendour of torches unnumbered; and rang
Around her wild and high the baying of hounds of hell.
And all the meadow-land trembled under her tread; and the yell
Pealed of the marish-haunting Nymphs of the river, that dance
In the pastures wherethrough Amaryntian Phasis’ ripples glance.
And terror gat hold upon Aison’s son; but, for all his dread, {1220}
Yet he turned him not round as his feet thence bore him, until he had sped
Back to his friends: and by this over Caucasus’ snow-flecked height,
As she rose, was the Dawn mist-cradled shooting her shafts of light.
And now did Aiêtes array in the corslet of stubborn mould
His breast, the corslet that Arês gave, in the day when rolled
Mimas of Phlegra beneath his hands in the dust of doom.
And he set on his head the golden helmet of fourfold plume
Flaming like to the world-encompassing sun’s red gleam,
When first in the dawning he leapeth up from the Ocean-stream.
He uplifted his manifold-plated shield, and he grasped in his hand {1230}
His terrible spear and resistless: was none that before it might stand
Of the rest of the heroes, since Herakles now they had left afar:
He only against it had matched his might in the shock of war.
And his fair-fashioned chariot of fleet-footed steeds was stayed for the king
By Phaethon hard by; then to the chariot-floor did he spring;
And he drew through his fingers the reins, and forth of the city-gate
Drove he along the broad highway, by the lists of fate
To stand; and a countless multitude hastened forth at his side.
And as when to the Isthmian athlete-strife Poseidon doth ride
High-borne on his car, or Tainarus-wards, or to Lerna’s mere, {1240}
Or Hyantian Onchestus, the temple-grove that the nations revere;
And as when to Kalaurea oft-times his chariot-wheels have rolled,
And Haimonia’s rock, and Geraistus’ town that the forests enfold,
Even so was Aiêtes, lord of the Kolchian folk, to behold.
But Jason the while, obeying the rede from Medea that came,
In water hath steeped that drug; and he sprinkled his shield with the same,
And his sturdy spear and his sword; and his comrades with might and main
Made proof of his harness, thronging around: yet essayed they in vain
To bend that spear, though it were but a little; but evermore
Unyielding and stark it abode in their strong hands, even as before. {1250}
But Idas, Aphareus’ son—for with wrath was the heart of him black—
With his great sword hewed at the shaft by the butt; but the blade leapt back
As hammer from anvil, jarred by the shock; and a mighty shout
From the heroes rejoicing in hope of the trial’s end rang out.
Thereafter his own limbs Jason sprinkled; and lo, he was filled
With terrible prowess, unspeakable, aweless; the hands of him thrilled
Tingling with strength, as waxed their sinews with gathering might.
And even as when a battle-steed afire for the fight
Leapeth and neigheth and paweth the ground, and glorying rears
His neck like a stormy-crested billow, and pricketh his ears, {1260}
Even so in the pride of his prowess triumphant was Aison’s son,
And hither and thither on high he bounded now and anon,
In his hands uptossing his brazen shield and his spear’s tough ash.
Thou hadst said that adown through the murky welkin the leaping flash
Of the tempest-levin was gleaming and flickering once and again
From the clouds that are bringing hard after their burden of blackest rain.
Nor long time now would they tarry from faring forth to essay
The emprise, but row after row upon Argo’s thwarts sat they,
And onward exceeding swiftly to Arês’ plain they sped.
Overagainst the city so far before them it spread {1270}
As the space from the start to the turning-post that the car must win
What time, when a king unto Hades hath passed, his princely kin
For hero and horse ordain the strife of the funeral game.
There found they Aiêtes, and other the tribes of the Kolchian name,
The folk on the cliffs Caucasian in lines far-stretching arrayed,
While the king by the winding brink of the river their coming stayed.
And Aison’s son, when his comrades had made the hawsers fast,
Then with his spear and his shield to the mighty trial passed,
Bounding from Argo forth; and there was he bearing with him
His gleaming helm with the dragon’s sharp teeth filled to the brim, {1280}
With his brand on his shoulders slung, bare-limbed, and in some wise seeming
As Arês, in some wise Apollo the lord of the sword gold-gleaming.
O’er the fallow he glanced, and the brazen yoke of the bulls he espied.
And the plough, hewn solid of massy adamant, therebeside.
So he strode thereunto, and beside it his strong spear planted upright
On the butt-spike thereof, and leaning against it the morion he pight.
Then tracing the countless tracks of the bulls right on did he fare
With nought but his shield: but suddenly forth from an unseen lair,
From a den in the bowels of the earth, wherein was their grimly stall,
Whereover the lurid-gleaming smoke ever hung as a pall, {1290}
Forth rushed they together as one, outbreathing the splendour of flame;
And the heroes quaked when they saw. But Jason, as onward they came,
Set wide his feet; and even as a rock in the sea doth abide
The charging surges whereon the scourging storm-blasts ride,
Before him he held to withstand them his shield; and the terrible twain
Their strong horns bellowing dashed against it with might and main:
Nevertheless by their onset they stirred him never a jot.
And even as when the armourers’ bellows of stout hide wrought
In the piercèd melting-pot anon with murmur and sigh
Kindle the ravening flame, and anon doth the breath of them die; {1300}
And an awful roar goeth up therefrom as the flames leap higher
From beneath, even so these twain outbreathing the rushing fire
Roared from their mouths, and about him as lightning leapt and played
The devouring blaze: yet warded him ever the spells of the maid.
Then grasped he the tip of the horn of the right-hand monster, and so
Mightily haled with his uttermost strength, till he bowed it low
To the brazen yoke, and, striking its hoof of brass with his foot,
Suddenly cast it adown on its knees, and its fellow brute,
Even as it charged him, with one thrust down on its knees did he throw.
Then his broad shield cast he away on the ground, and, to and fro {1310}
To this side and that side striding, he kept them fall’n in their place
On their fore-knees, swiftly moving athwart the fervent blaze,
While marvelled the king at the hero’s might. Then drew nigh two,
Even Tyndareus’ sons—for that thus long since had he bidden them do;—
And they lifted and gave him the yoke on the necks of the bulls to be bound:
And deftly thereon did he bind it, and ’twixt them upraised from the ground
The brazen pole, and he made it fast by its pointed tip
Unto the yoke: and they twain back from the fire to the ship
Withdrew. Then he caught up again, and cast on his shoulders his shield
Behind him; the helmet strong with the serpent’s sharp teeth filled {1320}
He grasped, and his spear resistless, wherewith, as a ploughman wight
Pricketh his oxen with goad Pelasgian, so did he smite
The flanks of the monsters, and starkly and steadily still did he hold
Unswerving the plough-heft cunningly fashioned of adamant mould.
But the bulls were raging the while with fury exceeding sore
Outbreathing the ravening splendour of fire: as that mad roar
Of the buffeting winds was the blast of their breath, when the seafarers quail
At their yelling above all else, and furl the straining sail.
Yet it was not long ere the beasts, as the stern spear bade them to toil,
Moved on, and behind them was broken the fallow’s rugged soil {1330}
Cloven apart by the might of the bulls and the ploughman strong.
And terribly crashed and groaned, the ploughshare’s furrows along,
The clods uprent, of a man’s load each, and with sturdy stride
Trampling the path the hero followed, and aye flung wide
The teeth of the serpent over the clods upheaved by the share,
Ever heedfully turning his head, lest haply, or e’er he was ware,
The harvest fell of the Earth-born against him should rise: and with strain
Of brazen hoofs on laboured the while that fearsome twain.
And it was so, that when the third part now was left of the day,
From the dawn as it waned, when the toil-forwearied labourers pray {1340}
‘O come to us, sweet unyoking-tide! O tarry thou not!’
Even then by the stalwart ploughman the fallowfield’s earing was wrought,
For all it was ploughgates four; and the bulls from the yoke loosed he,
And with shouting and smiting he scared them over the plain to flee.
Then back toward Argo he hied him again, while yet all clear
Of the Earth-born brood the furrows he saw; and with cheer on cheer
His comrades hailed him and heartened. He plunged the brazen gleam
Of his helm mid the river’s waters, and slaked his thirst from the stream.
Then bent he his knees till supple they grew; and he filled with might
His great heart, battle-aflame as a boar, when he whetteth for fight {1350}
Against the hunters his tushes, and drippeth the plenteous froth
Down from his jaws to the ground, as he churneth their foam in his wrath.
Now by this was the harvest of Earth-born men over all that field