Page:Medea (Webster 1868).djvu/74

 For now, in the robes, the wealth upon her head,

The royal bride is perishing; I know it.

But, since I go on so forlorn a journey

And them too send on one yet more forlorn,

I'd fain speak with my sons. Give me, my children,

Give your mother your right hands to clasp to her.

Oh darling hands, oh dearest lips to me,

Oh forms and noble faces of my boys!

Be happy: but there. For of all part here

Your father has bereft you. Oh sweet kiss,

Oh grateful breath and soft skin of my boys!

Go, go. I can no longer look on you,

But by my sufferings am overborne.

Oh I do know what sorrows I shall make,

But anger keeps the mastery of my thoughts,

Which is the chiefest cause of human woes.

Oftentimes now have I ere to-day

Reached subtler reasons, joined higher debates,

Than womanhood has the right to scan.

But 'tis that with us too there walks a muse

Discoursing high things yet not to us all,