Medea: Act IV

Nurse [alone]: My spirit trembles, for I feel the nearapproachOf some unseen disaster. Swiftly grows her grief,Its own fires kindling; and again her passion's forceHath leaped to life. I oft have seen her, with the fitOf inspiration in her soul, confront the godsAnd force the very heavens to her will. But now,A monstrous deed, of greater moment far than these,Medea is preparing. For, but now, did sheWith step of frenzy hurry off until she reachedHer stricken home. There, in her chamber, all her storesOf magic wonders are revealed; once more she viewsThe things herself hath held in fear these many years,Unloosing one by one her ministers of ill,Occult, unspeakable, and wrapt in mystery;And, grasping with her hand the sacred altar-horn,With prayers, she straightly summons all destructive powers,The creatures bred in Libya's sands, and on the peaksOf frigid Taurus, clad in everlasting snows.Obedient to her potent charms, the scaly broodOf serpents leave their darksome lairs and swarm to her;One savage creature rolls his monstrous length along,And darts his forkéd tongue with its envenomed sting,Death-dealing; at the charming sound he stops amazed,And fold on fold his body writhes in nerveless coils."But these are petty ills; unworthy of my hand,"She cries, "are such weak, earth-born weapons. Potent charmsAre bred in heaven. Now, now 'tis time to summon powersTranscending common magic. Down I'll draw from heavenThat serpent huge whose body lies athwart the skyLike some great ocean stream, in whose constricting foldsThe greater and the lesser Bears are held enthralled,The greater set as guide for Grecian ships, the lessFor Sidon's mariners! Let Ophiuchus looseHis hand and pour forth venom from his captive thrall!And let the Python huge, that dared to rear its headAgainst the heavenly twins, be present at my prayer!Let Hydra's writhing heads, which by Alcides' handWere severed, all return to life and give me aid!Thou too be near and leave thy ancient Colchian home,Thou watchful dragon, to whose eyes the first sleep cameIn answer to my incantations."When she thusHad summoned all the serpent brood, she cast her storeOf baleful herbs together; all the poisons brewedAmid the rocky caves of trackless Eryx; plantsThat flourish on the snowy peaks of Caucasus,Whose crags were spattered with Prometheus' gore; the herbsWithin whose deadly juice the Arab dips his darts,And the quiver-bearing Mede and fleeing Parthian;Those potent juices, too, which, near the shivering pole,The Suabian chieftains gather in Hyrcanian groves.The seasons, too, have paid their tribute to her stores:Whatever earth produces in the nesting time,And when the stiff'ning hand of winter's frost has strippedThe glory from the trees and fettered all the landWith icy bonds; whatever flow'ring plant concealsDestruction in its bloom, or in its twisted rootsDistils the juice of death, she gathers to her use.These pestilential herbs Haemonian Athos gave;And these on lofty Pindus grew; a bloody knifeClipped off these slender leaves on Macedonia's heights;Still others grew beside the Tigris, whirling onHis flood to meet the sea; the Danube nourished some;These grew on bright gem-starred Hydaspes' tepid stream;And these the Baetis bore, which gave the land its name,Displacing with its langourous tide, the western sea.These felt the knife when early dawn begins to break;The fruit of these was cut in midnight's gloomy hour;This fatal crop was reaped with sickle magic-edged.These deadly, potent herbs she takes and sprinkles o'erWith serpent venom, mixing all; and in the brothShe mingles unclean birds: a wailing screech owl's heart,A ghastly vampire's vitals torn from living flesh.Her magic poisons all she ranges for her use.The ravening power of hidden fire is held in these,While deep in others lurks the numbing chill of frost.Now magic runes she adds more potent far.But lo!Her voice resounds! and, as with maddened step she comes,She chants her charms, while heaven and earth convulsive rock.

Medea: I supplicate the silent throng, and you, the godsOf death's sad rites, and groping chaos, and the homeOf gloomy Pluto, and the black abyss of deathGirt by the banks of Tartarus! Ye storied shades,Your torments leave and haste to grace the festivalAt Hymen's call! Let stop the whirling wheel that holdsIxion's limbs and let him tread Corinthian ground;Let Tantalus unfrighted drink Pirene's stream.On Creon's stock alone let heavier torments fall,And backward o'er the rocks let Sisyphus be hurled.You too, the seed of Danaüs, whose fruitless toilThe ever-empty urns deride, I summon you;This day requires your helping hands. Thou radiant moon,Night's glorious orb, my supplications hear and comeTo aid; put on thy sternest guise, thou goddess dreadOf triple form! Full oft have I with flowing locks,And feet unsandaled, wandered through thy darkling grovesAnd by thy inspiration summoned forth the rainFrom cloudless skies; the heaving seas have I subdued,And sent the vanquished waves to ocean's lowest depths.At my command the sun and stars together shine,The heavenly law reversed; while in the Arctic seaThe Bears have plunged. The seasons, too, obey my will:I've made the burning summer blossom as the spring,And hoary winter autumn's golden harvests bear.The Phasis sends his swirling waves to seek their source,And Ister, flowing to the sea with many mouths,His eager water checks and sluggish rolls along.The billows roar, the mad sea rages, though the windsAll silent lie. At my command primeval grovesHave lost their shade; the sun, abandoning the day,Has stood in middle heaven; while falling HyadesAttest my charms.But now thy sacred hour is come,O Phoebe. Thine these bonds with bloody hand entwinedWith ninefold serpent coils; these cords I offer thee,Which on his hybrid limbs Typhoeus bore, who shookThe throne of Jove. This vessel holds the dying bloodOf Nessus, faithless porter of Alcides' bride.Here are the ashes of the pyre on Oeta's topWhich drank the poisoned blood of dying Hercules;And here the fatal billet that Althaea burnedIn vengeance on her son. These plumes the Harpies leftWithin their caverned lair when Zetes drove them forth;And these the feathers of that vile Stymphalian birdWhich arrows, dipped in Lerna's deadly poison, pierced.But lo! mine altar fires resound!While in the tripod's answering voiceBehold the present deity!I see the car of Trivia,Not full and clear as when she drivesThe livelong night to meet the dawn;But with a baleful, lurid glare,As, harried by Thessalian cries,She holds a more restricted course.Send such uncanny light abroad!Fill mortals with a dread unknown;And let our Corinth's priceless bronzeResound, Dictynna, for thy aid!To thee a solemn sacrificeOn bloody altar do we pay!To thee, snatched from the mournful tomb,The blazing torch nocturnal burns;On thee I call with tossing head,And many a frantic gesture make;Corpselike upon the bier I lie,My hair with priestly fillet bound;Before thy awful shrine is wavedThe branch in Stygian waters dipped.And, calling on thy name, with gleaming shoulders bared,Like Bacchus' mad adorers, will I lash my armsWith sacrificial knife. Now let my life-blood flow!And let my hands be used to draw the deadly sword,And learn to shed belovéd blood!Behold, self-stricken have I poured the sacrifice!But if too oft upon thy name I call,I pray forgive this importunity!The cause, O Hecate, of all my prayersIs ever Jason; this my constant care.Take now Creüsa's bridal robe, and steep in these,My potent drugs; and when she dons the clinging folds,Let subtle flames go stealing through her inmost heart.The fire that in this tawny golden circlet lurksPrometheus gave, who, for his daring heavenly theftIn human aid, endured an ever-living death.'Twas Vulcan showed the fires concealed in sulphur's veins;While from my brother Phaëthon I gained a flameThat never dies; I have preserved Chimera's breath,And that fierce heat that parched the fiery, brazen bullOf Colchis. These dread fires commingled with the gallOf dire Medusa have I bidden keep the powerOf lurking evil. Now, O Hecate,Give added force to these my deadly gifts.And strictly guard the hidden seeds of flame.Let them deceive the sight, endure the touch;But through her veins let burning fever run;In fervent heat consume her very bones,And let her fiercely blazing locks outshineHer marriage torches! Lo, my prayer is heard:Thrice have replied the hounds of Hecate,And she has shown her baleful, gleaming fires.Now all is ready: hither call my sons,And let them bear these presents to the bride.Go, go, my sons, of hapless mother born,And win with costly gifts and many prayersThe favor of the queen, your father's wife.Begone, but quick your homeward way retrace,That I may fold you in a last embrace.

Chorus: Where hastes this Bacchic fury now,All passion-swept? what evil deedDoes her unbridled rage prepare?Her features are congealed with rage,And with a queenly bearing, grandBut terrible, she sets herselfAgainst e'en Creon's royal power.An exile who would deem her now?Her cheeks anon with anger flush,And now a deadly pallor show;Each feeling quick succeeds to each,While all the passions of her heartHer changing aspect testifies.She wanders restless here and there,As a tigress, of her young bereft,In frantic grief the jungle scours.Medea knows not how in checkTo hold her wrath nor yet her love;If love and wrath make common cause,What dire results will come?When will this scourge of Corinth leaveOur Grecian shores for Colchis' strand,And free our kingdom from its fear?Now, Phoebus, hasten on thy courseWith no retarding rein.Let friendly darkness quickly veil the light,And this dread day be buried deep in night.