The Collected Works of William Morris With Introductions by his Daughter May Morris |
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| XXI. |
| XXIV. |
 | The Collected Works of William Morris |  |
So spake he, knowing nought of that same land;
Natheless, they, noting him as he did stand
Beside Erginus with unclouded face,
Took heart again, and to the oars apace
They gat and toiled, forgetting half the word
That from great Argo's sprite ere now they heard,
Nor thinking of the ills that they might meet,
But of the day when their returning feet
Should bear them, full of knowledge, wealth and fame,
Up to the royal hall wherefrom they came.
Natheless, they, noting him as he did stand
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Took heart again, and to the oars apace
They gat and toiled, forgetting half the word
That from great Argo's sprite ere now they heard,
Nor thinking of the ills that they might meet,
But of the day when their returning feet
Should bear them, full of knowledge, wealth and fame,
Up to the royal hall wherefrom they came.
But Jason in his heart thought: “Now, indeed,
Of home and fame full little is my need,
The days will change, and time will bring a day
When through my beard are sprinkled locks of grey,
And love no more shall be enough for me,
And no fair woman much delight shall be;
But little do we need when we are young
The bended knee and flattering double tongue,
Which we, grown old and drained of half our fire,
Knowing them false, do yet so much desire.”
Of home and fame full little is my need,
The days will change, and time will bring a day
When through my beard are sprinkled locks of grey,
And love no more shall be enough for me,
And no fair woman much delight shall be;
But little do we need when we are young
The bended knee and flattering double tongue,
Which we, grown old and drained of half our fire,
Knowing them false, do yet so much desire.”
But for his love, she, set quite free from fear
Of frightful death, held life itself so dear,
That where she went she scarcely heeded yet,
For still she seemed to see the black pile set
For her undoing by the temple-gate;
And seemed to see the thronging people wait
For her, who never now should fill the place
Amid the bale-fire: then she saw his face
So close, and with her fingers felt him toy,
And therewithal trembled for very joy,
And for that hour she cast by every care,
So sweet was love, and life so blithe and fair.
Of frightful death, held life itself so dear,
That where she went she scarcely heeded yet,
For still she seemed to see the black pile set
For her undoing by the temple-gate;
And seemed to see the thronging people wait
For her, who never now should fill the place
Amid the bale-fire: then she saw his face
So close, and with her fingers felt him toy,
And therewithal trembled for very joy,
And for that hour she cast by every care,
So sweet was love, and life so blithe and fair.
| The Collected Works of William Morris | |