ACTUS QUARTUS
MEDEA.
I see a barren rock above the tides.
JASON.
I hear a sound like water whispering.
MEDEA.
I hear a harsh noise like some ancient crone
Muttering curses.
JASON.
Now I hear a song.
’Tis like some shape of sleep that moans for joy,
Some bridal sob of love!
MEDEA.
O Son of God!
My poet, swiftly leap the live lyre forth!
Else we are all enchanted—yet to me
This song is nowise lovely. But in him
I note the live look of the eyes leap up,
And all his love for me forgotten straight
At the mere echo of that tune.
ORPHEUS.
Hark, friends!
Aea’s tune—my Colchian harbour-song!
I hear the waters faint and far,
And look to where the Polar Star,
Half hidden in the haze, divides
The double chanting of the tides;