Medea A tragedy |
 | 1. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
SCENE the EIGHTH.
|
| 2. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 3. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
| 10. |
| 4. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
| 10. |
| 11. |
| 12. |
| 13. |
| 14. |
| 5. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
 | Medea |  |
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
17
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:
18
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
19
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
20
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.
| Medea | |