Page:Tragedies of Euripides (Way 1894) v1.djvu/110

78 There is none. Tarrying then a little space,

If any tower of safety shall appear,

These deaths by guile and silence will I compass;

But if misfortune drive me desperate forth,

Myself will grip the sword,—yea, though I die,—

And slay, and dare the strong hand's reckless deed:

For, by the Queen of Night, whom I revere

Above all, and for fellow-worker chose,

Hekatê, dweller by mine hearth's dark shrine,

Not one shall vex my soul, and rue it not.

Bitter and woeful bridal will I give them,

Bitter troth-plight and banishing of me.

Up then!—spare nought of all thy sorcery-lore,

Medea, of thy plotting and contriving;

On to the dread deed! Now is need of daring.

Look on thy wrongs: thou must not make derision

For sons of Sisyphus, for Jason's bride,—

Thou, sprung from royal father, from the Sun!

Thou know'st means. Yea, our woman-nature 'tis—

Say they—to be most helpless for all good,

But fashioners most cunning of all ill.

Upward aback to their fountains the sacred rivers are stealing;

Justice is turned to injustice, the order of old to confusion:

The thoughts of the hearts of men are treachery wholly, and, reeling

From its ancient foundations, the faith of the Gods is become a delusion.

Changes—and changes!—the voice of the people shall crown me with honour: