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

“Yea,” said the king, “yea, whosoe'er thou art,
Needs must I trust thee, in such wise my heart
Desireth life again when this is done.
Give me the image, O thou fearful one,
Who knowest all my life, who in the breath
Wherein thou prayest help still threatenest death.”

Then on the image did she swear the king,
But while he spoke was she still muttering,
With glittering eyes fixed on him; but at last,
When from his lips the dreadful word had passed,
She said: “O King, pray that thou mayst not die
Before the fifth day's sun has risen on high;
Yet on to-morrow morn shalt thou behold
This hair of mine all glittering bright as gold,
My tottering feet firm planted on the ground,
My grey and shrivelled arms grown white and round,

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As once, when by Ilissus' side I trod,
A snare of beauty to a very God,
To young men's eyes a fierce consuming fire.”

So saying, did she kindle fresh desire
In the king's fainting heart, until he thought:
“Nay, if new life hereby to me is brought,
Withal there may be brought a lovely mate
To share my happy days and scorn of Fate.”
Then did he bid his daughters straight to go
With that wise woman, nor spare aught to do
That she might bid them, and they wondering,
But in their hearts yet fearful of the thing,
Unto the woman's chamber led her back,
And bade her say what matters she might lack.

Then little did she ask unto her need,
But fair cold water, and some fitting weed,
And in a close-shut place to be alone,
Because no eye must see the wonder done.

And “Oh,” she said, “fair women, haste ye now,
For surely weaker every hour I grow,
And fear to die ere I can live again.”
Then through the house they hastened, and with pain
A brazen caldron their fair hands bore up,
As well wrought over as a king's gold cup;
Which in a well-hung chamber did they set,
And filled with clear cold water, adding yet
New raiment wrought about with ruddy gold,
And snowy linen wrapped in many a fold.

Then did Medea turn unto the three,
And said: “Farewell, for no more shall ye see
These limbs alive, or hear this feeble voice,
For either shall my changèd lips rejoice
In my new beauty, or else stark and cold
This wretched body shall your eyes behold.
Wait now until six hours are over-passed,
And if ye still shall find the door shut fast,
Then let the men bring hammers, neither doubt

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That thence my corpse alone shall they bear out.
But if the door is open or ajar,
Draw nigh and see how great my helpers are,
And greet what there ye see with little fear,
For whatsoever may have touched me here,
By then, at least, shall no one be with me,
And nought but this old sorceress shall ye see
Grown young again; alas! grown young again!
Would God that I were past the fear and pain!”

So said the Colchian; but their fearful eyes
Turned hastily from such hid mysteries
As there might lurk; and to their bower they gat,
And well-nigh silent o'er the weaving sat,
And did what things they needs must do that day,
Until that six hours' space had passed away.