Medea

O my sons! My sons! ye have a city and a house Where, leaving hapless me behind, without A mother ye for ever shall reside. But I to other realms an exile go, Ere any help from you I could derive, Or see you blest; the hymeneal pomp, The bride, the genial couch, for you adorn, And in these hands the kindled torch sustain. How wretched am I through my own perverseness! You, O my sons, I then in vain have nurtured, In vain have toiled, and, wasted with fatigue, Suffered the pregnant matron's grievous throes. On you, in my afflictions, many hopes I founded erst: that ye with pious care Would foster my old age, and on the bier Extend me after death--much envied lot Of mortals; but these pleasing anxious thoughts Are vanished now; for, losing you, a life Of bitterness and anguish shall I lead. But as for you, my sons, with those dear eyes Fated no more your mother to behold, Hence are ye hastening to a world unknown. Why do ye gaze on me with such a look Of tenderness, or wherefore smile? for these Are your last smiles. Ah wretched, wretched me! What shall I do? My resolution fails. Sparkling with joy now I their looks have seen, My friends, I can no more. To those past schemes I bid adieu, and with me from this land My children will convey. Why should I cause A twofold portion of distress to fall On my own head, that I may grieve the sire By punishing his sons? This shall not be: Such counsels I dismiss. But in my purpose What means this change? Can I prefer derision, And with impunity permit the foe To 'scape? My utmost courage I must rouse: For the suggestion of these tender thoughts Proceeds from an enervate heart. My sons, Enter the regal mansion. [Exuent SONS.] As for those Who deem that to be present were unholy While I the destined victims offer up, Let them see to it. This uplifted arm Shall never shrink. Alas! alas! my soul Commit not such a deed. Unhappy woman, Desist and spare thy children; we will live Together, they in foreign realms shall cheer Thy exile. No, by those avenging fiends Who dwell with Pluto in the realms beneath, This shall not be, nor will I ever leave My sons to be insulted by their foes. They certainly must die; since then they must, I bore and I will slay them: 'tis a deed Resolved on, nor my purpose will I change. Full well I know that now the royal bride Wears on her head the magic diadem, And in the variegated robe expires: But, hurried on by fate, I tread a path Of utter wretchedness, and them will plunge Into one yet more wretched. To my sons Fain would I say: "O stretch forth your right hands Ye children, for your mother to embrace. O dearest hands, ye lips to me most dear, Engaging features and ingenuous looks, May ye be blest, but in another world; For by the treacherous conduct of your sire Are ye bereft of all this earth bestowed. Farewell, sweet kisses--tender limbs, farewell! And fragrant breath! I never more can bear To look on you, my children." My afflictions Have conquered me; I now am well aware What crimes I venture on: but rage, the cause Of woes most grievous to the human race, Over my better reason hath prevailed. Credits: Reprinted from The Plays of Euripides in English, vol. ii. Trans. Shelley Dean Milman. London: J.M. Dent & Sons, 1922.

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