 | Medea |  |
12
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,
13
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.
| Medea | |