University of Virginia Library

ACT the FIRST.

SCENE the FIRST.

LYCANDER
seeing THEANO advance from the temple of Juno.
That form divine, by all rever'd and lov'd,
Moves from the temple. On her pensive brow
Sits holy care with gentleness and grace,
Whose placid beams humanity reveal.
She stops contemplating the sea. Theano—
Why with that musing aspect tow'rd the main
Stand'st thou regardless of thy brother's voice?

THEANO.
Imperial Juno in an awful vision
This morn presented to my wondring sight
The shapes of strangers by distress pursu'd;
Whom to the refuge of this holy place
I must receive obedient to her charge:
And lo! a vessel turns her hast'ning prow
To Corinth's harbour.

LYCANDER.
Ten well-measur'd strokes
Of her swift oars will reach the shore below:
But hear my errand. Creon knows, thy altar
Unclad with garlands still proclaims thy firmness
Against his daughter's marriage; then prepare
Thy hallow'd eye to meet his threat'ning brow;
Fence thy chaste ear against his impious vaunts,
Which urge th'example of Almighty Jove
For his own thirst of empire.

THEANO.
Say to Creon,
Kings should aspire to imitate the Gods
Not in their pow'r, but goodness; human virtues
More nigh to Heav'n's perfection may be rais'd,
Than human grandeur: Jove derides the toil
Of mortal pow'r, but smiles on righteous deeds.

LYCANDER.
Thus would I speak, Theano, could my words
And thoughts be tun'd in harmony like thine;
But danger breaks that union in a palace,
And strains the tongue to discord with the heart:
Then pacify thy goddess, when the king
Exacts my service, if discretion wears
A mask of duty; kindly thou impute
Blame to my station, and absolve Lycander.
But look; yon vessel hath discharg'd its train,
Who climb the hill with aged steps and slow.
Nay turn thy eyes; a second troop of strangers
March through the city. Sable is their garb,
Their mien dejected. This demands my care.
Farewel.

SCENE the SECOND.

THEANO and COLCHIANS.
THEANO.
What forms are these? All-potent goddess!
I feel thee now; my vision is accomplish'd.

FIRST COLCHIAN.
O thou, who seem'st the guardian of these shades,
Which from the isthmus shew their tow'ring growth,
The sailor's guide through Corinth's double main;
Permit an humble stranger to enquire,
What pow'r is worshipp'd here.

THEANO
aside.
The very garb!
The figures painted in my recent vision!
Thy feet, O stranger, stand on sacred earth.
These shades enclose the venerable fane
Erected there to hymeneal Juno,
Whose presence guards the citadel of Corinth.

FIRST COLCHIAN.
Then let us lift our suppliant voice unblam'd,
That in the refuge of this hallow'd grove
Our exil'd feet may rest.

THEANO.
Your suit is granted.
So wills the pow'r inhabiting that temple.
And say, ye favour'd of connubial Juno,
What are your names and country?

FIRST COLCHIAN.
From the banks
Of distant Phasis, and the Euxin wave,
Lost to our native mansions, are we come
Ill-guided Colchians to the walls of Corinth.
On king Æetes' daughter we attend,
That boast of Asia, to the Sun ally'd,
To Hecaté and Circé, more illustrious
In her own virtues, for her wisdom known
Through ev'ry clime, the all-endow'd Medea.

THEANO.
Where is your princess?

FIRST COLCHIAN.
In that anchor'd bark,
Which to your haven from Iolcos sail'd;
Where on his specious ambassy to Creon
Her husband left her on a lonely pillow:
At length impatient of his tedious absence
She and her sons have brav'd th'unsparing deep.

THEANO.
Yet more unsparing, than the deep, is man.
So will this daughter of affliction find,
When her sad feet are planted on this shore.

FIRST COLCHIAN.
How swift are evil tidings! While our keel
But lightly touch'd that well-frequented strand,
We heard, th'ungrateful Jason would divorce her
This day to wed the daughter of your monarch.

THEANO.
If heav'n prevent not. Through the solemn shade
Direct thy view. That high-rais'd altar note
Close by the fountain. Thither lead your princess.
This is a refuge, which no regal pride
High-swoln with pow'r, nor multitude inflam'd
By madding discord, nor invader's rapine
Have e'er profan'd. Return. Yon palace opens.
No friend of yours approaches. It is Creon.
Thou too be present, goddess, and illumine
The earth-born darkness of thy servant's mind.

SCENE the THIRD.

THEANO and CREON.
CREON
entring.
Why do they paint Medea's woes to me?
A king should lift his steady front on high,
And, while he gazes on the radiant throne,
Where bright ambition sits amid the stars,
The hopes, the fears, the miseries of others
Pass by unheeded in his contemplation.
Art thou come forth with those ill-omen'd looks
To blast the public festival?

THEANO.
Howl, howl,
Deluded city; banish from thy dwellings
The genial banquet; fill thy streets with mourners
To celebrate in notes of lamentation
A nuptial day offensive to the gods.

CREON.
Thinkst thou, thy priestly office can avail
To counteract the high designs of kings?
Go and with bridal chaplets deck thy altar,
Lest thou provoke me to confound thy pride
Elate with wreaths of sanctity in vain.

THEANO.
Not, that the holy fillet binds my temples,
Not, that before the altar I present
The public victim, or a nation's vows
By me are usher'd to th'eternal thrones,
Misjudging monarch, is my heart elate;
It is, that virtue owns me for her servant.
Benevolence and pity guide my will,
Beneficence and charity my deeds.
Ev'n now, though deem'd importunate and proud,
My soul bows down in heaviness for Creon,
And at his danger sighs in mournful warnings.

CREON.
Repeat thy warnings to the coward's ear.
My danger?

THEANO.
From that goddess, who inspir'd
The Colchian princess to desert her father,
To aid the Grecian heroes, and restore
Our lost possession of the golden fleece.
The voice of loud complaint from yonder beach
Already strikes her ear. Medea—

CREON.
Ha!
What of Medea?

THEANO.
Is arriv'd in Corinth.

CREON.
Arriv'd?

THEANO.
She and her children to reclaim
A husband and a father in that prince,
Whom thou hast destin'd to Creüsa's bed.

CREON.
Thou, who obtain'st infinity of pow'r,
Lord of Olympus, king of gods and men,
Dost thou regard thy scepter'd sons below?
Say, shall a female hand o'erturn the basis,
Which I am founding to enlarge my sway?
If so, resume the diadem, I wear;
Its scanty circle I reject with scorn.

THEANO.
Ye winds, disperse impieties like these;
Nor let their sound profane the heav'nly threshold.

CREON.
Hence to thy temple.

THEANO.
Thou defy'st not me,
But her, whose awful presence fills that temple.
Imperfect victims, inauspicious off'rings,
And sounds portentous have foreboded long
Her high displeasure. Her apparent form
Stood near my pillow at the op'ning dawn,
And strictly charg'd me to receive this stranger.
Think too, what lofty science arms Medea
With more, than nature's force.

CREON.
I think it false,
And all the fabled wonders of her charms,
Thy legends too of inauspicious off'rings,
Imperfect victims, and portentous sounds,
What priests may publish, and a king despise.

THEANO.
Farewel, rash prince. My duty is discharg'd.

CREON.
Stay. Dost thou mean to give this Colchian refuge?

THEANO.
Can I dispute a deity's injunction?

CREON.
Go, dream again; procure some wiser vision,
Which may instruct thee to avoid my wrath.

SCENE the FOURTH.

CREON and LYCANDER.
CREON.
Where hast thou loiter'd to conceal th'arrival
Of this accurst enchantress, and the purpose
Of thy rebellious sister to protect her?

LYCANDER.
My lord, these tidings are to me unknown;
But further news of high import I bear.
Iolchian Æson, Jason's royal sire,
Advancing now anticipates this notice.

SCENE the FIFTH.

CREON, LYCANDER, and ÆSON with Thessalians in mourning garments.
CREON.
Thrice hail! my double brother. Do I owe
Thy timely presence to our ancient friendship,
Or to th'alarm, Medea's flight might raise,
Who scarce precedes thy fortunate appearance?
My sudden joy o'erlook'd that dusky robe.

ÆSON.
It suits my fortune. Heavy with affliction
My weary feet are banish'd from Iolcos.
How my fell brother, Pelias, that usurper
Of my paternal sway was foil'd and slain,
Thou know'st. His son retreated into Thrace;
Whence he hath pour'd a savage host of ruffians
With unexpected inroad, and so rapid,
That instant flight alone preserv'd thy friend,
Thy suppliant now for aid.

CREON.
Dismiss thy cares.
Soon shall thy warlike son display his banners,
Extend my frontier, and recover thine.
More of thy fortunes shalt thou tell hereafter;
But give to gladness this selected day
Of Jason's nuptials.

ÆSON.
Nobly thou reliev'st
A king's distress. Now satisfy the parent.
Lead me to Jason.

CREON.
Follow to my palace.

LYCANDER.
He is not there.

CREON.
What say'st thou?

LYCANDER.
On the sands
Alone with melancholy pace he treads,
As I but now descry'd him from this rock.

ÆSON.
With melancholy pace?

CREON.
His promise binds him
This very morning to espouse Creüsa.

ÆSON.
Perhaps with fresh calamity o'erworn,
I doubt too much; yet hear me.

CREON.
Thy appearance
Removes all doubts. Lycander, find the prince.
Say, who is come to celebrate his nuptials.

ÆSON
to Lycander.
Is he a stranger to Medea's landing?

LYCANDER.
I trust, he is.

ÆSON.
They must not meet.

CREON.
Lycander,
See, thou prevent it. Send Theano to us;
And let her bring obedience: else her fault
Shall on thy head be punish'd.

SCENE the SIXTH.

CREON and ÆSON.
ÆSON.
Should my son
Once see Medea!

CREON.
Can her looks annul
A league like ours?

ÆSON.
Alas! thou little know'st her.
Her eye surpasses that refulgent star,
Which first adorns the evening; and her talents
Exceed her beauty. Like the forked thunder
She wields resistless arguments; her words
With more, than lightning's subtlety, are wing'd.

CREON.
Why art thou startled?

ÆSON.
She is there—ascending;
My sight acquainted with her haughty steps
Shrinks, ere they touch the summit of this hill.

CREON.
Which is the far-fam'd sorceress of Colchis?

ÆSON.
Too well distinguish'd by her stately port,
And elevation o'er that weeping train,
She tow'rs a genuin off-spring of the gods.
Rage on her brow, and anguish in her eye
Denounce the growing tempest of her mind.

CREON.
Now, god of waters, since thy partial hand
Thrusts this barbarian outcast on my shores,
Back to thy floods the fugitive I spurn.

ÆSON.
What means my royal friend? Retire. Avoid
This formidable woman, who may wound
Our dignity. I know her soaring mind,
Which all enlighten'd with sublimest knowledge
Disdains the state and majesty of kings,
Nor ranks with less, than deity itself.

CREON.
Curse on her beauty, and majestic mien!
But let the rumor of her pow'r be true;
The Sun, her boasted ancestor, may arm
Her hand with fire; let Hecaté and Circé,
The goddesses of spells, and black enchantments,
Attend her steps, and cloath her feet in terror:
We have our fiends; the sorceress shall find,
That grief, despair, distraction wait our nod,
To wring her heart through all her magic guards.

SCENE the SEVENTH.

MEDEA, her two Children, COLCHIANS and PHÆACIANS.
MEDEA.
No more, I charge you. Noble minds oppress'd
By injuries disdain the sound of comfort.
Ye fiends and furies wont to leave your flames
At my command, and tremble at my charms,
Now, now ascend and aid Medea's rage.
Give me the voice of thunder to resound
My indignation o'er the earth and heav'ns;
That I, who draw my lineage from the Sun,
Am fall'n below the basest lot of slaves:
That anguish, want, despair, contempt and shame
Are heap'd together by the hands of fate,
Whelm'd in one mass of ruin on my head,
And dash my struggling virtue to the ground.

FIRST COLCHIAN.
Why to our faithful counsels art thou deaf?

MEDEA.
Canst thou by counsel waft my exil'd feet
To my lost parents, my forsaken friends,
And native palace?—Oh! I gave him all;
To him my virgin bosom I resign'd,
For him the regal mansion of my father,
The lov'd companions of my youth deserted;
From foul defeat, from shame, from death I sav'd him:
What more could woman?—Yet he weds another.
Me he abandons, and these helpless infants
Forlorn, unshelter'd in a foreign clime,
To ev'ry outrage, ev'ry want expos'd.
Blast his perfidious head, vindictive lightnings!
Unhappy woman! canst thou in the height
Of thy despair, thy rage and indignation,
Canst thou pursue him with a heavier curse,
Than to be plung'd in woes, which equal thine?

FIRST COLCHIAN.
Though stung with just resentment, due regard
Pay to my age, fidelity and service.
A long and painful traverse from Iolcos
Hast thou endur'd, nor since thy landing here
The needful succour known of rest, or food.

MEDEA.
Talk not to me of nourishment and rest.
Food to these lips, and slumber to these eyes
Must ever now be strangers.

FIRST COLCHIAN.
By the beams
Of thy forefather never will I see
Thy wisdom bound in vassalage to passion.
Once more I warn thee, princess, to thy refuge.
This is the consecrated bow'r of Juno.
Thou underneath the hospitable shade
Sit suppliant down.

MEDEA.
Improvident Medea!
To raise another from destruction's depths,
To wealth, to glory raise him, yet thyself
Leave destitute and suppliant! Oh! what art thou,
Whom blinded men unerring wisdom call?
Thou couldst not pierce the thin, the airy veils,
Which from my eyes conceal'd the paths of danger;
Nor canst thou now repel th'increasing storm
Of rapid anguish, which o'erturns my peace:
Down to the endless gloom of dreary night;
Hence, let me drive thee from my inmost soul;
That nothing calm may hover nigh my heart
To cool its pain, and save me from distraction.

SCENE the EIGHTH.

COLCHIANS and PHÆACIANS.
A COLCHIAN.
Come on, ye soft companions in affliction,
Melodious daughters of Phæacia's isle;
In strains alternate let us chaunt our grief:
Perhaps our mistress we may charm to rest.

A PHÆACIAN.
O Music, sweet artificer of pleasure,
Why is thy science exercis'd alone
In festivals, on hymeneal days,
And in the full assemblies of the happy
Ah! how much rather should we court thy skill
In sorrow's gloomy season, to diffuse
Thy smooth allurements through the languid ear
Of self-devour'd affliction, and delude
The wretched from their sadness.

A COLCHIAN.
Let us melt
In tuneful accents flowing to our woes,
That so Medea may at least reflect,
She is not singly wretched. Let her hear
Our elegies, whose measur'd moan records
Our friends forsaken, and our country lost;
That she no longer to her sole distress,
Her deep-revolving spirit may confine,
But by our sorrows may relieve her own.

FIRST PART of the MUSIC.
A COLCHIAN.
[Iambics.]
Ye stately battlements and tow'rs,
Imperial Corinth's proud defence;
Thou citadel, whose dewy top
The clouds in fleecy mantles fold,
Projecting o'er the briny foam
An awful shadow, where the might
Of Neptune urges either shore,
And this contracted isthmus forms:
Ah! why your glories to admire
Do we repining Colchians stand,
Ill-fated strangers! on the banks
Of silver-water'd Phasis born.

A PHÆACIAN.
[Trochaics.]
Pride of art, majestic columns,
Which beneath the sacred weight
Of that god's refulgent mansion
Lift your flow'r-insculptur'd heads;
Oh! ye marble-channell'd fountains,
Which the swarming city cool,
And, as art directs your murmurs,
Warble your obedient rills:
You our eyes obscur'd by sorrow
View unconscious of your grace,
Mourning still our lost Phæacia,
Long-remember'd, native isle.

A PHÆACIAN.
[Iambics.]
O that on fam'd Peneus' banks
The nymphs of Pelion had bemoan'd
Their shady haunts to ashes turn'd
By heav'n's red anger! hateful pines,
Which form'd thy well-compacted sides,
O Argo fatal to our peace.
Thou never then through Adria's wave
Hadst reach'd Phæacia's blissful shore,
Nor good Alcinoüs the hand
Of Jason with Medea join'd,
Nor sent us weeping from our homes,
Her luckless train, to share her grief.

SECOND PART.
A PHÆACIAN.
[Trochaics.]
Known recesses, where the echoes
Through the hollow-winding vale,
And the hill's retentive caverns
Tun'd their voices from our songs;
Shade-encircled, verdant levels,
Where the downy turf might charm
Weary feet to joyous dances
Mix'd with madrigals and pipes:
O ye unforgotten pleasures,
Pleasures of our tender youth,
You we never shall revisit,
Ill-exchang'd for scenes of woe.

A COLCHIAN.
From the polish'd realms of Greece,
Where the arts and muses reign,
Truth and justice are expell'd.
Here from palaces and tow'rs
Snowy-vested faith is fled;
While beneath the shining roofs
Falshood stalks in golden robes.
Dreary Caucasus! again
Take us to thy frozen breast;
Let us shiver on thy ridge,
Ever-during pile of ice
Gather'd from the birth of time!

A PHÆACIAN.
Cheering breeze with sportive pinion
Gliding o'er the crisped main,
With our tresses thou shalt wanton
On our native sands no more.
Fountains, whose melodious waters,
Cooling our Phæacian grots,
Oft our eyes to sweetest slumber
With their lulling falls beguil'd;
We have chang'd your soothing warble
For the doleful moan of woe,
And our peaceful moss deserting
Found a pillow thorn'd with care.