Studies in the Poetry of Italy, Part I. Roman

Name: Studies in the Poetry of Italy, Part I. Roman
Author: Miller, Frank Justus

Miller, Frank Justus

Latin poetry -- History and criticism

But flight and exile drive me forth! And even now
              My children must be torn away with tears and cries.--
              Then let them die to Jason since they're lost to me.
              Once more has hate resumed her sway, and passion's fire
              Is hot within my soul. Now fury, as of yore,
              Reseeks her own. Lead on, I follow to the end!
              I would that I had borne twice seven sons, the boast
              Of Niobe! But all too barren have I been.
              Still will my two sufficient be to satisfy
              My brother and my sire.

She suddenly falls distraught, as one who sees a dreadful vision.

                                      But whither hastes that throng
              Of furies? What their quest? What mean their brandished
                fires?
              Whom threats this hellish host with horrid, bloody brands?
              I hear the writhing lash of serpents huge resound.
              Whom seeks Magæra with her deadly torch?--Whose shade
              Comes gibbering there with scattered limbs?--It is my
                brother!
              Revenge he seeks; and we will grant his quest. Then come,
              Within my heart plunge all your torches--rend me--burn!
              For lo, my bosom open to your fury's stroke.
              O brother, bid those vengeful goddesses depart
              And go in peace down to the lowest shades of Hell.
              And do thou leave me to myself, and let this hand
              That slew thee with the sword now offer sacrifice
              Unto thy shade.

Roused to the point of action by this vision, and still at the very
pitch of frenzy, she plunges her dagger into the first of her sons. (The
poet thus violates the canons of the classical drama in representing
deeds of blood upon the stage.)

But now hoarse shouts and the quick tramping of many feet are heard; and
well does Medea know their meaning.

                                         What sudden uproar meets my ear?
              'Tis Corinth's citizens on my destruction bent.
              Unto the palace roof I'll mount, and there complete
              This bloody sacrifice.
              [_To her other son._] Do thou come hence with me;
              But thee, poor senseless corse, within mine arms I'll bear.
              Now gird thyself, my heart, with strength. Nor must this
                deed
              Lose all its just renown because in secret done;
              But to the public eye my hand must be approved.

Medea disappears within, leading one son, terrified and reluctant, and
bearing the body of her other child in her arms. Jason and a crowd of
Corinthian citizens rush upon the stage. Stopping in front of his own
palace, he shouts:

Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.

Studies in the Poetry of Italy, Part I. Roman

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