Collected Works (Vol. II)

100 THE ARGONAUTS Bronzed with a ruder sun than ours, and scarred | (Rough tokens. of old battles) yet so calm And mild (with all that vigour) that to me Came a swift pity—the enchanter’s bane. That I flung from me. But my subtle soul Struck its own bosom with the sword of thought, So that I saw not pity, but desire! CHORUS. Surely a bane more potent than the first. MEDEA. Love is itself enchantment ! CHORUS. Some kind god Whispers from this a little light of hope. MEDEA. Only the hopeless are the happy ones. CHORUS. But didst thou turn him from his gleaming goal? Cover that shame with sweeter shame than this? MEDEA. Thou knowest that his vigil was to keep, Invoking all Olympus all the night, And then to yoke the oxen, and to plough The fearful furrow, sow the dreadful seed, Smite down the armies, and assuage the pest Of slime thrice coiled about the sacred grove. CHORUS. Thy bitter love disturbed that solitude ? MEDEA. Not bitter, hervues. See ye yet the end? 1 ‘The hopeless are happy, like the girl Pingala”’ (Buddhist Proverb). Pingala waited for her lover, and mourned because he came not. But, giving up hope at last, she regained her cheerfulness. Cf 2 Samuel xii. 15-23. CHORUS. , Our good quest ended by thy father’s hate, And by thy own hour’s madness! This . 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 hot sweet 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 With fire and shapen as kisses. And those arms And kisses and mad movements of quick love Burnt up his being, and his life was lost In woman’s love at last ! CHORUS. Unseemly act ! Who dared thus break on meditation? MEDEA. CHORUS. Surely thy passion mastered thee, O queen !