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

Meanwhile Medea through the thick-leaved grove
Passed underneath the moaning of the dove,
Not left by those strange beasts; until at last
Her feet from off the thin long herbage passed
Unto a sunny space of daisied sward,
From which a strange-wrought silver grate did guard
A lovely pleasance, set with flowers, foursquare,
On three sides ending in a cloister fair
That hid the fair feet of a marble house,
Carved thick with flowers and stories amorous:
And midmost of the slender garden trees
A gilded shrine stood set with images,
Wherefrom the never-dying fire rose up
Into the sky, and a great jewelled cup
Ran over ever from a runlet red
Of fragrant wine, that 'mid the blossoms shed
Strange scent that grapes yield not to any man,
While round about the shrine four streamlets ran
From golden founts to freshen that green place.

So there Medea stayed a little space,
Gazing in wonder through the silver rail
That fenced that garden from the wooded vale;
For damsels wandered there in languid wise

184

As though they wearied of that Paradise,
Their jewelled raiment dragging from its stalk
The harmless daisy in their listless walk.
But though from rosy heel to golden head
Most fair they were and wrought with white and red,
Like to the casket-bearer who beguiled
The hapless one, and though their lips still smiled,
Yet to the Colchian heavy-eyed they seemed,
And each at other gazed as though she dreamed;
Not noting aught of all the glorious show
She joined herself, nor seeming more to know
What words she spoke nor what her fellows sung,
Nor feeling arms that haply round her clung.

For here and there the Colchian maid could see
Some browned seafarer kissing eagerly
White feet or half-bared bosom, and could hear
A rough voice stammering low 'twixt love and fear
Amid the dreamy murmur of the place,
As on his knees, with eager upturned face,
Some man would pour forth many a fruitless word,
That did but sound like song of a wild bird
Unto his love; while she for all reply,
Still gazing on his flushed face wearily,
Would undo clasp and belt, and show to him
Undreamed-of loveliness of side or limb.

And in such guise of half-stripped jewelled weed,
The men entrapped, Medea saw them lead
Into the dark cool cloister, whence again
They came not forth, but four-foot, rough of mane,
Uncouth with spots, baneful of tooth and claw.

But when the sad-eyed beasts about her saw
These coming towards them and beheld the gate
Open and shut, and fellows to that state
New come, they whined, and brushing round her feet,
Prayed for return unto that garden sweet,
Their own undoing once, that yet shall be
Death unto many a toiler of the sea;

185

Because all these outside the wicket white
Were men though speechless; and in all despite
Of what they seemed to be, none otherwise,
Did longing torture them, than when in guise
Of men they stood before that garden green,
And first their eyes the baneful place had seen.

But now the queen grew wrath, for in her way,
Before the gate a yellow lion lay,
A tiger-cat her raiment brushed aside,
And o'er her feet she felt a serpent glide,
The swine screamed loud about her, and a pard
Her shining shoulder of its raiment bared
With light swift clutch; then she from off her head
Took the sere moly wreath, and therewith said:
“What do ye, wretches? know ye not this sign,
That whoso wears is as a thing divine?
Get from this place, for never more can ye
Become partakers of the majesty
That from man's soul looks through his eager eyes.
Go—wail that ever ye were made so wise
As men are made; who chase through smooth and rough
Their own undoing, nor can have enough
Of bitter trouble and entangling woe.”

Then slowly from her did those monsters go,
In varied voices mourning for their lot
And that sweet poison ne'er to be forgot.