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

But when that loveliness they did behold,
They cried aloud for wonder, though not yet
Her happy dreaming thoughts would she forget.
But into spoken words her murmuring grew,
Though of their purport nought the sisters knew,
Since in the outland Colchian tongue she spoke;
Then, while they waited, slowly she awoke,
And looking round her, still with half-shut eyes,
She said: “O damsels, fain would I arise,
I hear the morning murmur of the birds
And lowing of released and hungry herds
Across the meadows sweet with vetch and bean,
And the faint ripple of the Phasis green.”

But with that last word did she start upright,
Shading her grey eyes from the tapers' light,
And said: “O queens, and are ye come to me
This eve, my triumph over time to see?
And is my boast for nought? behold me made
Like the fair casket-bearer who betrayed
The luckless man while yet the world was young.”
So saying did she speak as one who sung,
So sweet her voice was; then she stepped adown
From off the silken couch, and rough and brown
They seemed beside her, fair maids though they were.

But silently they stood, and wondered there,
And from their hearts had flown all thoughts at last
But that of living while the world went past.

Then at her feet Alcestis knelt and prayed:

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“O, who can see thee, Goddess, unafraid?
Yet thou thyself hast promised life to us,
More than man's feeble life and perilous,
And if thy promise now thou makest vain,
How can we live our thoughtless life again?
Then, would thou ne'er hadst left thine heavenly home,
And o'er the green Thessalian meadows come!”

Then spoke Medea: “But a few days yet
And all eld's fears your father shall forget;
And when that he has gained his just reward,
Your lives from death and danger will I guard.
Natheless no Goddess am I, but no more
Than a poor wanderer on from shore to shore,
Though loved by her the swift of Goddesses,
Who now is glancing 'twixt the dark grey trees,
E'en while we speak. Now leave me to my rest,
For this new-changèd body is oppressed
By all the thoughts that round my heart will throng
Of ancient days, and hopes forgotten long:
Go therefore now, but come back with the sun
To do my bidding; then shall there be done
Another marvel ere the morn comes round,
If yet ye three are dwelling above ground.”

Then, trembling, they unto their chamber passed,
But they being gone, she made the strong door fast,
And soon in deep sleep on the couch she lay
Until the golden sun brought back the day;
Nor could she fail arising to be glad
That once again her own fair form she had,
And as the fresh air met her pleasantly,
She smiled, her image in the bath to see
That had been lost since at the noon she stood
Beside the still pool in the lonely wood;
And she rejoiced her combed-out hair to bind,
And feel the linen in the morning wind
Fluttering about in kissing side and limb,
And it was sweet about her ankles slim

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To make the gemmed thongs of the sandals meet,
With rosy finger touching her soft feet.

But she being clad, there came the ladies three,
Who seemed by her but handmaidens to be;
And such indeed they were, as dumb with awe
In the fresh morn that loveliness they saw.

Then said Medea: “Hail Thessalians, hail!
Surely to-day your prayer shall nowise fail,
For I am fain to do the whole world good.
But now take heed; is there some close dark wood
Anigh the town?—thither will we to-night,
And in that place, hidden from all men's sight,
Shall ye see wonders passing human thought.
But thither, by your hands there must be brought
Some ancient beast at very point to die,
That ye may see how loved an one am I
By dreadful Gods; there, too, before the eve
A mighty brazen caldron must ye leave,
And nigh the place there must not fail to be
Some running stream to help our mystery.
Moreover She, the helpful and the kind,
Whose name I name not, willeth not to find
The robes of kings and queens upon her slaves;
Therefore, if ye would please the one who saves,
This night must ye be clad in smocks of black,
And all adornment must your bodies lack,
Nor must there be a fillet on your hair,
And the hard road must feel your feet all bare.”

“Lady,” Eradne said, “all shall be done,
Nor wilt thou yet have had beneath the sun
More faithful servants than we are to thee;
But wilt thou not the king my father see,
And gladden him, that he may give thee things
Such as the heart desires—the spoil of kings?”

“Nay,” said Medea, “much have I to think
Ere the hot sun beneath the sea shall sink,
And much to call to mind, and for your sake

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Unto my Helper many a prayer to make.”

With that they went, and she, being left alone,
Took up the image of the Swift-foot One,
Which for a hidden casket served her well,
And wherein things were laid right strange to tell,
Divers whereof she handled, and the while
She muttered charms learned in the river isle.

But at the noontide did they bring her food,
Saying that all was ready in the wood,
And that the night alone they waited now,
Ere unto them those marvels she might show.
Therefore Medea bade them come again
When all the house of peaceful sleep was fain,
And nought was stirring: so at dead of night
They came to her in black apparel dight,
Bearing like raiment for the Colchian,
Who did it on before their faces wan
And troubled eyes; then out of gates they stole,
Setting their faces to the wished-for goal.