Medea of Euripides Part 2

NURSE.

There is no house! 'Tis gone. The lord Seeketh a prouder bed: and she Wastes in her chamber, not one word Will hear of care or charity.

VOICE (_within_).

O Zeus, O Earth, O Light, Will the fire not stab my brain?

What profiteth living? Oh, Shall I not lift the slow Yoke, and let Life go, As a beast out in the night, To lie, and be rid of pain?

CHORUS.

_Some Women_

A.

"O Zeus, O Earth, O Light:"

The cry of a bride forlorn Heard ye, and wailing born Of lost delight?

B.

Why weariest thou this day, Wild heart, for the bed abhorred, The cold bed in the clay?

Death cometh though no man pray, Ungarlanded, un-adored.

Call him not thou.

C.

If another's arms be now Where thine have been, On his head be the sin: Rend not thy brow!

D.

All that thou sufferest, G.o.d seeth: Oh, not so sore Waste nor weep for the breast That was thine of yore.

VOICE (_within_).

Virgin of Righteousness, Virgin of hallowed Troth, Ye marked me when with an oath I bound him; mark no less That oath's end. Give me to see Him and his bride, who sought My grief when I wronged her not, Broken in misery, And all her house... . O G.o.d, My mother's home, and the dim Sh.o.r.e that I left for him, And the voice of my brother's blood... .

NURSE.

Oh, wild words! Did ye hear her cry To them that guard man's faith forsworn, Themis and Zeus? ... This wrath new-born Shall make mad workings ere it die.

CHORUS.

_Other Women._

A.

Would she but come to seek Our faces, that love her well, And take to her heart the spell Of words that speak?

B.

Alas for the heavy hate And anger that burneth ever!

Would it but now abate, Ah G.o.d, I love her yet.

And surely my love's endeavour Shall fail not here.

C.

Go: from that chamber drear Forth to the day Lead her, and say, Oh, say That we love her dear.

D.

Go, lest her hand be hard On the innocent: Ah, let be!

For her grief moves. .h.i.therward, Like an angry sea.

NURSE.

That will I: though what words of mine Or love shall move her? Let them lie With the old lost labours! ... Yet her eye-- Know ye the eyes of the wild kine,

The lion flash that guards their brood?

So looks she now if any thrall Speak comfort, or draw near at all My mistress in her evil mood.

[_The_ NURSE _goes into the house_.

CHORUS.

_A Woman._

Alas, the bold blithe bards of old That all for joy their music made, For feasts and dancing manifold, That Life might listen and be glad.

But all the darkness and the wrong, Quick deaths and dim heart-aching things, Would no man ease them with a song Or music of a thousand strings?

Then song had served us in our need.

What profit, o'er the banquet's swell That lingering cry that none may heed?

The feast hath filled them: all is well!

_Others._

I heard a song, but it comes no more.

Where the tears ran over: A keen cry but tired, tired: A woman's cry for her heart's desired, For a traitor's kiss and a lost lover.

But a prayer, methinks, yet riseth sore To G.o.d, to Faith, G.o.d's ancient daughter-- The Faith that over sundering seas Drew her to h.e.l.las, and the breeze Of midnight shivered, and the door Closed of the salt unsounded water.

[_During the last words_ MEDEA _has come out from the house_.

MEDEA.

Women of Corinth, I am come to show My face, lest ye despise me. For I know Some heads stand high and fail not, even at night Alone--far less like this, in all men's sight: And we, who study not our wayfarings But feel and cry--Oh we are drifting things, And evil! For what truth is in men's eyes, Which search no heart, but in a flash despise A strange face, shuddering back from one that ne'er Hath wronged them? ... Sure, far-comers anywhere, I know, must bow them and be gentle. Nay, A Greek himself men praise not, who alway Should seek his own will recking not... . But I-- This thing undreamed of, sudden from on high, Hath sapped my soul: I dazzle where I stand, The cup of all life shattered in my hand, Longing to die--O friends! He, even he, Whom to know well was all the world to me, The man I loved, hath proved most evil.--Oh, Of all things upon earth that bleed and grow, A herb most bruised is woman. We must pay Our store of gold, h.o.a.rded for that one day, To buy us some man's love; and lo, they bring A master of our flesh! There comes the sting Of the whole shame. And then the jeopardy, For good or ill, what shall that master be; Reject she cannot: and if he but stays His suit, 'tis shame on all that woman's days.

So thrown amid new laws, new places, why, 'Tis magic she must have, or prophecy-- Home never taught her that--how best to guide Toward peace this thing that sleepeth at her side.

And she who, labouring long, shall find some way Whereby her lord may bear with her, nor fray His yoke too fiercely, blessed is the breath That woman draws! Else, let her pray for death.

Her lord, if he be wearied of the face Withindoors, gets him forth; some merrier place Will ease his heart: but she waits on, her whole Vision enchained on a single soul.

And then, forsooth, 'tis they that face the call Of war, while we sit sheltered, hid from all Peril!--False mocking! Sooner would I stand Three times to face their battles, shield in hand, Than bear one child.

But peace! There cannot be Ever the same tale told of thee and me.