XII.
FROM EURIPIDES.
CHORUS IN MEDEA.
Corinthian women implore Medea to spare her children, and not
carry the pollution of guilt to Athens.
Strophe A
Children of Erechtheus' line,
Heaven-descended race divine;
Blest as none are blest but ye,
Nursed on far-famed wisdom free,
In that holy seat of song,
Land inviolate of wrong:
Moving soft thro' lucent air
Down the violet valleys, where
The Pierian Muses fair
Native on Ionian shore
Golden-hair'd Harmonia bore:—
Antistrophe A
—Where, they sing, Cythéré first
By Cephísus cool'd her thirst;
Breathing then the fields to bless
Heaven-sweet gales of gentleness.
While from sunny locks she showers
Fragrant wreaths of roseate flowers;
And her many Loves, that share
Wisdom's throne, as pure, as fair,
To the sacred soil repair;
Man to Manhood's glory raising;
Virtue with new virtue gracing.
Strophe B
Holy city—holy shore—
Holy streams—the day deplore:—
How should ye Medea bless,
Welcoming such murderess?
Mother stain'd with infant gore:—
—By thyself we thee implore,
Think, from such pollution free,
All thy children are to thee!
Suppliant at thy knees we press—
Spare that infant littleness!
Antistrophe B
Can the soul such fury share?
Mother's hands such horror dare?
Mother's lips the crime confess?
Mother's heart such savageness?
Can thine eyes thy children see
Tearless o'er their agony?
—No—not so—not so—when they
At thy knees for mercy pray!
Ere thy hand their blood confess,
Spare that infant piteousness!
