The Greatest Christmas Books of All Time. Люси Мод Монтгомери

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">       Then princes humbly sought my hand in wedlock, mine,

       Who now must sue.—

       O changeful Fortune, thou my throne

       Hast reft away, and given me exile in its stead.

       Trust not in kingly realms, since fickle chance may strew

       Their treasures to the winds. Lo this is regal, this The work of kings, which time nor change cannot undo: To succor the afflicted, to provide at need A trusty refuge for the suppliant. This alone I brought of all my Colchian treasure, this renown, This very flower of fame—that by my arts I saved The bulwark of the Greeks, the offspring of the gods. My princely gift to Greece is Orpheus, that sweet bard, Who can the trees in willing bondage draw, and melt The crag's hard heart. Mine too are Boreas' winged sons, And Leda's heaven-born progeny, and Lynceus, he Whose glance can pierce the distant view; yea, all the Greeks, Save Jason; for I mention not the king of kings, The leader of the leaders: he is mine alone, My labor's recompense. The rest I give to you. Nay, come, O king, arraign me, and rehearse my crimes. But stay! for I'll confess them all. The only crime Of which I stand accused is this—the Argo saved. Suppose my maiden scruples had opposed the deed; Suppose my filial piety had stayed my hand: Then had the mighty chieftains fall'n, and in their fate All Greece had been o'erwhelmed; then this thy son-in-law Had felt the bull's consuming breath, and perished there. Nay, nay, let Fortune when she will my doom decree; I glory still that kings have owed their lives to me. But what reward I reap for all my glorious deeds Is in thy hands. Convict me, if thou wilt, of sin, But give him back for whom I sinned. O Creon, see, I own that I am guilty. This much thou didst know, When first I clasped thy knees, a humble suppliant, And sought the shelter of thy royal clemency. Some little corner of thy kingdom now I ask In which to hide my grief. If I must flee again, O let some nook remote within thy broad domain Be found for me!

      Creon claims to have been merciful in having shielded Jason and Medea all these years from the just resentment of the king of Thessaly. Jason's cause would be easy enough to defend, for he has been innocent of guilt; but it is impossible longer to shield Medea, who has committed so many bloody deeds in the past, and is capable of doing the like again.

      Creon.

       Then go thou hence and purge our kingdom of its stain;

       Bear with thee in thy flight thy fatal poisons; free

       The state from fear; abiding in some other land,

       Outwear the patience of the gods.

      Medea.

       Thou bidst me flee?

       Then give me back my bark in which to flee. Restore

       The partner of my flight. Why should I flee alone?

       I came not thus. Or if avenging war thou fear'st,

       Then banish both the culprits; why distinguish me

       From Jason? 'Twas for him old Pelias was o'ercome;

       For him the flight, the plunder of my father's realm,

       My sire forsaken and my infant brother slain,

       And all the guilt that love suggests; 'twas all for him.

       Deep-dyed in sin am I, but on my guilty soul

       The sin of profit lieth not.

      Creon.

       Why seek delay

       By speech? Too long thou tarriest.

      Medea.

       I go, but grant

       This last request: let not the mother's fall o'erwhelm

       her hapless babes.

      Creon.

       Then go in peace; for I to them

       A father's place will fill, and take them to my breast.

      Medea.

       Now by the fair hopes born upon this wedding day,

       And by thy hopes of lasting sovereignty secure

       From changeful fate's assault, I pray thee grant from flight

       A respite brief, while I upon my children's lips

       A mother's kiss imprint, perchance the last.

      Creon.

       A time

       Thou seek'st for treachery.

      Medea.

       What fraud can be devised

       In one short hour?

      Creon.

       To those on mischief bent, be sure,

       The briefest time is fraught with mischief's fatal power.

      Medea.

       Dost thou refuse me, then, one little space for tears?

      Creon.

       Though deep-ingrafted fear would fain resist thy plea,

       A single day I'll give thee ere my sentence holds.

      Medea.

       Too gracious thou. But let my respite further shrink,

       And I'll depart content.

      Creon.

       Thy life shall surely pay

       The forfeit if to-morrow's sun beholds thee still

       In Corinth.

       But the voice of Hymen calls away

       To solemnize the rites of this his festal day.

      Creon goes out toward his palace. Medea remains gazing darkly after him for a few moments, and then takes her way in the opposite direction.

      The chorus sings in reminiscent strain of the old days before the Argo's voyage, the simple innocent life of the golden age when each man was content to dwell within the horizon of his birth; the impious rash voyage of the Argonauts, their dreadful experiences in consequence, their wild adventure's prize of fatal gold and more fatal Colchian sorceress; their dark forebodings of the consequences in after years, when the sea shall be a highway, and all hidden places of the world laid bare. Medea comes rushing in bent upon using for vengeance the day which Creon has granted her. The nurse tries in vain to restrain her.

      Nurse.

       My foster daughter, whither speedest thou abroad?

       O stay, I pray thee, and restrain thy passion's force.

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