Ah me, I am full of hidden horrors! . . . Shall it be A long time more, my children, that ye live To reach to me those dear, dear arms? . . . Forgive! I am so ready with my tears to-day, And full of dread. . . . I sought to smooth away The long strife with your father, and, lo, now I have all drowned with tears this little brow! [_She wipes the child's face._ LEADER. O'er mine eyes too there stealeth a pale tear: Let the evil rest, O God, let it rest here! JASON. Woman, indeed I praise thee now, nor say Ill of thine other hour. 'Tis nature's way, A woman needs must stir herself to wrath, When work of marriage by so strange a path Crosseth her lord. But thou, thine heart doth wend The happier road. Thou hast seen, ere quite the end, What choice must needs be stronger: which to do Shows a wise-minded woman. . . . And for you, Children; your father never has forgot Your needs. If God but help him, he hath wrought A strong deliverance for your weakness. Yea, I think you, with your brethren, yet one day Shall be the mightiest voices in this land. Do you grow tall and strong. Your father's hand Guideth all else, and whatso power divine Hath alway helped him. . . . Ah, may it be mine To see you yet in manhood, stern of brow, Strong-armed, set high o'er those that hate me. . . . How? Woman, thy face is turned. Thy cheek is swept With pallor of strange tears. Dost not accept Gladly and of good will my benisons? MEDEA. 'Tis nothing. Thinking of these little ones. . . . JASON. Take heart, then. I will guard them from all ill. MEDEA. I do take heart. Thy word I never will Mistrust. Alas, a woman's bosom bears But woman's courage, a thing born for tears. JASON. What ails thee?--All too sore thou weepest there. MEDEA. I was their mother! When I heard thy prayer Of long life for them, there swept over me A horror, wondering how these things shall be. But for the matter of my need that thou Should speak with me, part I have said, and now Will finish.--Seeing it is the king's behest To cast me out from Corinth . . . aye, and best, Far best, for me--I know it--not to stay Longer to trouble thee and those who sway The realm, being held to all their house a foe. . . . Behold, I spread my sails, and meekly go To exile. But our children. . . . Could this land Be still their home awhile: could thine own hand But guide their boyhood. . . . Seek the king, and pray His pity, that he bid thy children stay! JASON. He is hard to move. Yet surely 'twere well done. MEDEA. Bid her--for thy sake, for a daughters boon. . . . JASON. Well thought! Her I can fashion to my mind. MEDEA.