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

Meanwhile, her lover through the court had passed,
And at the open door he stood at last,
Amidst his friends, and looking thence, he saw
The white arms of the damsels round her draw
A wall soon to be broken; but her face
Over their flower-crowned heads made glad the place:
Giddy with joy one moment did he gaze
And saw his love her slender fingers raise
Unto the mantle's clasp—the next the hall
Was filled with darting flames from wall to wall,
And bitter screams rang out, as here and there,
Scorched, and with outspread arms, the damsels fair
Rushed through the hall; but swiftly Jason ran,
Grown in one moment like an old worn man,
Up to the dais, whence one bitter cry
He heard, of one in utmost agony,

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Calling upon his once so helpful name;
But when unto the fiery place he came,
Nought saw he but the flickering tongues of fire
That up the wall were climbing high and higher;
And on the floor a heap of ashes white,
The remnant of his once-beloved delight,
For whom his ancient love he cast away,
And of her sire who brought about that day.

Then he began to know what he had done,
And madly through the palace did he run,
Calling on Glauce, mingling with her name
Hers that erewhile had brought him unto fame,
Colchian Medea, who, for her reward,
Had lonely life made terrible and hard,
By love cast back, within her heart to grow
To madness and the vengeance wrought out now;
But as about the burning place he ran,
Full many a maid he met and pale-faced man,
Wild with their terror, knowing not what end
That which their eyes had seen might yet portend:
But these shrunk backward from his brandished sword,
And open shouting mouth, and frenzied word,
As still from chamber unto chamber fair
He rushed, scarce knowing what he sought for there,
Nor where he went, till his unresting feet
Had borne him out at last into the street,
Where armed and unarmed people stood to gaze
On Creon's palace that began to blaze
From every window out into the air,
With strange light making pale that noontide fair.

But they, bewildered sore, and timorous,
Gazed helplessly upon the burning house,
And dreaded yet some hidden enemy,
Thinking indeed a dreadful God to see,
Bearing a fresh destruction in his hand.

But now, when Jason with his glittering brand
Broke in upon them from the growing fire,

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With wild pale face, and half-burnt rich attire,
They fell back shuddering as his face they knew,
Changed though it was, and soon a murmur grew:
“Death to the sorceress, slay the Colchian!”
But he, unheeding still, from 'midst them ran,
Until unto his own fair house he came,
Where gazed his folk upon the far-off flame,
And muttered low for fear and woefulness.

Then he knew not his own, but none the less,
Into the court he passed, and his bright sword
Cast down, and said: “What feeble, timid lord
Hides here when all the world is on a blaze,
And laughing, from their heaven the high Gods gaze
At foolish men shut in the burning place?”
With that he turned about his haggard face,
And stared upon his own fair-sculptured frieze,
Carved into likeness of the tumbling seas,
And Argo, and the heroes he had led,
And fair Medea. Then he cried, and said:
“Lo, how the Gods are mocking me with this,
And show me pictures of my vanished bliss,
As though on earth I were, and not in hell;
And images of things I know full well
Have set about me. Can I die again,
And in some lower hell forget the pain
My life is passed in now?”

And with that word
He cast his eyes upon his glittering sword,
And caught it up and set it to his breast,
And in one moment had he been at rest
From all his troubles, when a woman old,
His nurse in past times, did the deed behold,
And ran and caught the hero's mighty hand,
And hanging round about him did she stand,
And cried: “Ah, Jason! ah, my lord, let be!
For who can give another life to thee?
And though to-day the very sun looks black,

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And wholesome air the whole world seems to lack,
Yet shalt thou yet have wealth of happy days,
And well-fulfilled desires, and all men's praise;
Unless the Gods have quite forgotten thee.
O Jason! O my child! come now with me,
That I may give thee sweet forgetfulness
A little while of sorrow and distress.”

Then with the crone did Jason go along,
And let her thin hand hold his fingers strong,
As though a child he were in that old day,
Ere in the Centaur's woodland cave he lay.
But through the house unto a distant room,
Dark-hung, she brought him, where, amidst the gloom,
Speechless he lay, when she had made him drink
Some potion pressed from herbs plucked by the brink
Of scarce-known lakes of Pontus; then she said,
As she beheld at last his weary head
Sink on the pillow: “Jason, rest thee now,
And may some kind God smooth thy wrinkled brow.
Behold to-morrow comes, and thou art young,
Nor on one string are all life's jewels strung;
Thou shalt be great, and many a land shalt save,
And of thy coming life more joy shalt have
Than thou hast thought of yet.”

He heard her words,
But as the far-off murmur of the birds
The townsman hears ere yet the morn is late,
While streets are void and shut is every gate;
But still they soothed him, and he fell asleep,
While at his feet good watch the crone did keep.