Go: from that chamber drear Forth to the day Lead her, and say, Oh, say That we love her dear. D. Go, lest her hand be hard On the innocent: Ah, let be! For her grief moves hitherward, Like an angry sea. NURSE. That will I: though what words of mine Or love shall move her? Let them lie With the old lost labours! . . . Yet her eye-- Know ye the eyes of the wild kine, The lion flash that guards their brood? So looks she now if any thrall Speak comfort, or draw near at all My mistress in her evil mood. [_The_ NURSE _goes into the house_. CHORUS. _A Woman._ Alas, the bold blithe bards of old That all for joy their music made, For feasts and dancing manifold, That Life might listen and be glad. But all the darkness and the wrong, Quick deaths and dim heart-aching things, Would no man ease them with a song Or music of a thousand strings? Then song had served us in our need. What profit, o'er the banquet's swell That lingering cry that none may heed? The feast hath filled them: all is well! _Others._ I heard a song, but it comes no more. Where the tears ran over: A keen cry but tired, tired: A woman's cry for her heart's desired, For a traitor's kiss and a lost lover. But a prayer, methinks, yet riseth sore To God, to Faith, God's ancient daughter-- The Faith that over sundering seas Drew her to Hellas, and the breeze Of midnight shivered, and the door Closed of the salt unsounded water. [_During the last words_ MEDEA _has come out from the house_. MEDEA.