The Argonauts

8 ARGONAUTAE CHORUS. Thy bitter love disturbed that solitude? MEDEA. Not bitter, heroes. See ye yet the end? CHORUS. Our good quest ended by thy father’s hate, And by thy own hour’s madness! This I see. MEDEA. But if he gain the Fleece? CHORUS. A blissful end. MEDEA. This end and that are moulded diversely. CHORUS. Riddle no more, nor ply with doubtful hope Hearts ready to rejoice and to despair Equally minded. MEDEA. At the midmost hour, His mind given up to sleepless muttering Of charms not mine—decrees Olympian— All on a sudden he felt fervent arms Flung round him, and a sweet hot body’s rush Lithe to embrace him, and a cataract Of amber-scented hair hissing about His head, and in the darkness two great eyes Flaming above him, and the whole face filled