Medea: Act I

Medea: Ye gods of wedlock, thou the nuptial couch's guard,Lucina, thou from whom that tamer of the deep,The Argo's pilot, learned to guide his pristine bark,And Neptune, thou stern ruler of the ocean's depths,And Titan, by whose rays the shining day is born,Thou triformed maiden Hecate, whose conscious beamsWith splendor shine upon the mystic worshipers--Upon ye all I call, the powers of heaven, the godsBy whose divinity false Jason swore; and yeWhose aid Medea may more boldly claim, thou worldOf endless night, th' antipodes of heavenly realms,Ye damnéd ghosts, thou lord of hades' dark domain,Whose mistress was with trustier pledge won to thy side--Before ye all this baleful prayer I bring: Be near!Be near! Ye crime-avenging furies, come and looseYour horrid locks with serpent coils entwined, and graspWith bloody hands the smoking torch; be near as onceYe stood in dread array beside my wedding couch.Upon this new-made bride destruction send, and deathUpon the king and all the royal line! But he,My husband, may he live to meet some heavier doom;This curse I imprecate upon his head; may he,Through distant lands, in want, in exile wander, scornedAnd houseless. Nay, may he once more my favor woo;A stranger's threshold may he seek where now he walksA well-known guest; and--this the blackest curse I know--May children rise to him to emulate their sire,Their mother's image bear.--Now won is vengeance, won!For I have children borne.--Nay, nay, 'tis empty plaintsAnd useless words I frame. Shall I not rather rushAgainst the foe and dash the torches from their hands,The light from heaven? Does Father Phoebus suffer this?Do men behold his face, as, seated in his car,He rolls along th' accustomed track of sky serene?Why does he not return to morning's gates, the lawOf heaven reversing? Grant that I be borne aloftIn my ancestral car! Give me the reins, O sire,Thy fiery team grant me to guide with lines of flame.Then Corinth, though with double shore delaying fate,Herself consumed with fire, shall light two seas with flame.But no, this course alone remains, that I myselfShould bear the wedding torch, with acquiescent prayers,And slay the victims on the altars consecrate.Thyself inspect the entrails, and seek there the wayBy prayer, if still, O soul, thou livest, if there stillRemaineth aught of old-time strength in thee! AwayWith woman's fears! Put on thy heart a breast-plate hardAnd chill as Caucasus! Then all the wizard artsThat Phasis knew, or Pontus, shall be seen againIn Corinth. Now with mad, unheard of, dreadful deeds,Whereat high heaven and earth below shall pale and quake,My pregnant soul is teeming; and my heart is fullOf pictured wounds and death and slaughter.--Ah, too longOn trifling ills I dwell. These were my virgin deeds.Now that a mother's pains I've felt, my larger heartMust larger crimes conceive. Then passion, gird thyself,Put on thy strength, and for the issue now prepare!Let my rejection pay as dread a fee as when,Of old, through impious deeds of blood, I came to him.Come, break through slow delay, and let the home once wonBy crime, by equal deeds of crime be done away!

Chorus [chanting the epithalamium for the nuptials of Jason andCreüsa]:

Now on our royal nuptials graciously smiling,Here may the lords of heaven and the deeps of the oceanCome while the people feast in pious rejoicing!

First to the gods who sway the scepter of heaven,Pealing forth their will in the voice of thunder,Let the white bull his proud head bow in tribute.

Then to the fair Lucina, her gift we offer,White as the driven snow, this beautiful heifer,Still with her neck untouched by the yoke of bondage.

Thou who alone canst rule the heart of the war-god,Thou who linkest in peace the opposing nations,Out of thy generous hand abundance pouring--Thee we offer a daintier gift, O Concord!

Thou who, on the marriage torches attending,Night's dark gloom with favoring hand dispellest,Hither come with languishing footstep drunken,Binding thy temples fair with garlands of roses!

Star of the evening, thou who to twilight leadestThe day, and hailest again the dawn of the morning,All too slowly thou com'st for lovers impatient,Eager to see thy sign in the glow of the sunset.

The fairest of girls is she,The Athenian maids outshining,Or the Spartan maiden with armor laden,No burden of war declining.

Not by Alpheus' sacred stream,Nor Boeotia's musical water,Is there any fair who can compareWith our lovely Corinthian daughter.

Our Thessalian prince excels,In beauty of form and face,Even Bacchus, the son of the fierce-flaming one,Who yokes the wild tigers in place.

The murmuring tripod's lord,Though the fairest in heavenly story,The twins with their star bright gleaming afar--All yield to our Jason in glory.

When in her train of courtly maidens she mingles--Like the bright sunshine paling the starry splendor,Or the full moonlight quenching the Pleiads' brilliance,So does she shine, all peerless, of fair ones the fairest.

Ho then, youths, with licensed jest and rejoicing,Loud let the songs of gladness ring through the city;Rarely against our lords such freedom is given.

Fair and noble band of Bacchus, the thyrsus-bearer,Now is the time to light the glittering torches of pinewood.Shake on high the festal fire with languishing fingers;

Now let the bold and merry Fescennine laughter and jestingSound through our ranks. Let Medea fare in silence and darkness,If perchance another lord she shall wed in her exile.