The Collected Works of William Morris :: :: University of Virginia Library

Along the shore next day their way they went,
And many a headland passed and many a bent
Known of Erginus: in that land there were
No towns, said he, but still from year to year
Well-nigh untilled the earth her produce gave,
And many a herd the houseless people drave,
And using neither roof nor sheltering wall,
Dwelt but in tents, and knew no need at all.

With that he bade them trim the bellying sail,
For from the land now blew a gentle gale,
Spice-laden, warm, that made their full hearts yearn
For unseen things, but soon they left astern
That fruitful place, the lion-haunted land,
Nor saw but tumbling seas on either hand.

Three days they sailed, and passed on the third day
A rock-bound coast upon their left that lay,
But on the morrow eve made land again,
Stretched right ahead across the watery plain,
Whereto ere nightfall did they draw anear,
And so lay-to till dawn with little fear;
For from the shore a light, soft land-wind blew.

But as the dead night round about them drew,
The ceaseless roar of savage beasts they heard,
Mingled with sounds like cries of men afeard,
And blare of horns, and clank of heavy chains,
And noise of bells, such as in moonlit lanes
Rings from the grey team on the market-night.

And with these noises did they see a light,
That seemed to light some crown of palaces,
Shining from out a grove of thick-set trees.
Then did the Minyæ doubt if they were come
Unto some great king's well-adornèd home,
Or if some temple of a God were there,

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Or if, indeed, the spirits of the air
Haunted that place: so slowly passed away
The sleepless night, and at the dawn of day
Their longing eyes beheld a lovely land,
Green meadows rising o'er a yellow strand,
Well-set with fair fruit-bearing trees, and groves
Of thick-leaved elms all populous of doves,
And watered by a wandering clear green stream;
And through the trees they saw a palace gleam
Of polished marble, fair beyond man's thought.

There as they lay, the sweetest scents were brought
By sighing winds across the bitter sea,
And languid music breathed melodiously,
Steeping their souls in such unmixed delight,
That all their hearts grew soft, and dim of sight
They grew, and scarce their hands could grip the oar,
And as they slowly neared the happy shore
The young men well-nigh wept, and e'en the wise
Thought they had reached the gate of Paradise.

But 'midst them all Medea thoughtfully
Gazed landward o'er the ripple of the sea,
And said no word, till from her precious things
She drew a casket full of chains and rings,
And took therefrom a chaplet brown and sere,
And set it on her head: and now being near
The yellow strand, high on the poop she stood,
And said: “O heroes, what has chilled your blood,
That in such wise ye gaze upon this land
With tearful eye, and nerveless, languid hand,
And heaving breast, and measureless desire?
Be wise, for here the never-dying fire,
The God-begotten wonder, Circe, lights,
The wise of women, framer of delights
That being of man once felt, he ne'er shall cease
To long for vainly, as the years increase
On his dulled soul, shut in some bestial form.

“And good it had been that some bitter storm

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Were tossing Argo's planks from sea to sea,
Than ye had reached this fair land, but for me,
Who amid tears and prayers, and nameless pain,
Some little wisdom have made shift to gain:
Look forth upon the green shore, and behold
Those many beasts, all collared with fine gold,
Lions and pards, and small-eyed restless bears,
And tuskèd boars, who from uneasy lairs
Are just come forth; nor is there 'mongst them one
But once walked upright underneath the sun,
And had the name of man: such shall ye be,
If from the ship ye wander heedlessly,
But safely I my kinswoman may meet,
And learn from her the bitter and the sweet
That waits us ere ye come to Greece again,
And see the wind-swept green Thessalian plain.

“Meanwhile, let nothing tempt you to the land,
Nor unto anything stretch forth the hand
That comes from shore, for all that wander there
Are but lost men and their undoers fair.”

But with that word they furrowed the wet sand,
And straight they ran the gangway out to land,
O'er which, with girded raiment, passed the queen;
But now another marvel was there seen,
For to the shore, from many a glade and lawn,
The golden-collared sad-eyed beasts were drawn
In close-set ranks above the sea-beat shore,
And open-mouthed, with varying moan and roar,
White-foot Medea did they seem to threat;
Whereat the Minyæ on their bow-strings set
The notches of their arrows, but the maid
Turned round about, with calm face unafraid,
And said: “O Minyæ, lay your weapons down,
Nor fear for me; behold this chaplet brown,
Whose withered leaves rest lightly on my head,
This is the herb that Gods and mortals dread,
The Pontic Moly, the unchanging charm.”

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Then up the beach she passed, and her white arm
This way and that the leopards thrust aside,
And 'mid the grisly swine her limbs did glide,
And on a lion's mane her hand she laid;
But still with moans they thronged about the maid,
As she passed onward to the palace white,
Until the elm-groves hid her from the sight.

Then they with fearful hearts did sacrifice
Unto the Gods in their seafaring wise,
But of the lovely land were they so fain
That their return they scarcely counted gain,
Unto the green plain dotted o'er with folds
And that fair bay that Pelion beholds.