Page:Tragedies of Seneca (1907) Miller.djvu/127

Rh But terrible, she sets herself Against e'en Creon's royal power. An exile who would deem her now? Her cheeks anon with anger flush, And now a deadly pallor show; Each feeling quick succeeds to each, While all the passions of her heart Her changing aspect testifies. She wanders restless here and there, As a tigress, of her young bereft, In frantic grief the jungle scours. Medea knows not how in check To hold her wrath nor yet her love; If love and wrath make common cause, What dire results will come? When will this scourge of Corinth leave Our Grecian shores for Colchis' strand, And free our kingdom from its fear? Now, Phoebus, hasten on thy course With no retarding rein. Let friendly darkness quickly veil the light, And this dread day be buried deep in night.

Messenger [comes running in from the direction of the palace]: Lo, all is lost! the kingdom totters from its base! The daughter and the father lie in common dust! Chorus: By what snare taken? Messenger: By gifts, the common snare of kings. Chorus: What harm could lurk in them? Messenger: In equal doubt I stand; And, though my eyes proclaim the dreadful deed is done, I scarce can trust their witness. Chorus: What the mode of death? Messenger: Devouring flames consume the palace at the will Of her who sent them; there complete destruction reigns, While men do tremble for the very city's doom. Chorus: Let water quench the fire. Messenger: Nay here is added wonder: