There is none. Tarrying then a little space,
If any tower of safety shall appear, 390
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 395
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. 400
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,— 405
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.
Chorus.
(Str. 1.)
Upward aback to their fountains the sacred rivers are stealing;
Justice is turned to injustice, the order of old to confusion: 410
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:
