If I could love them still, as deep as now I hate them, if in all this lone, wide world One single thing were left me that was not Poisoned, or brought in ruin on my head-- Perchance I might go forth e'en now in peace And leave my vengeance in the hands of Heaven. But no! It may not be! They name me cruel And wanton, but I was not ever so; Though I can feel how one may learn to be. For dread and awful thoughts do shape themselves Within my soul; I shudder--yet rejoice Thereat! When all is finished--Gora, hither! GORA. What wouldst thou? MEDEA. Come to me! GORA. And why? MEDEA. Come hither! See! There they lay, the babes--ay, and the bride, Bleeding, and dead! And he, the bridegroom, stood And looked and tore his hair! A fearful sight And ghastly! GORA. Heaven forfend! What mean these words? MEDEA. Ha, ha! Thou'rt struck with terror then, at last? Nay, 'tis but empty words that I did speak. My old, fierce will yet lives, but all my strength Is vanished. Oh, were I Medea still--! But no, I am no more! O Jason, why, Why hast thou used me so? I sheltered thee, Saved thee, and gave thee all my heart to keep; All that was mine, I flung away for thee! Why wilt thou cast me off, why spurn my love, Why drive the kindly spirits from my heart And set fierce thoughts of vengeance in their place? I dream of vengeance, when I have no more The power to wreak revenge! The charms I had From my own mother, that grim Colchian queen, From Hecate, that bound dark gods to me To do my bidding, I have buried them, Ay, and for love of thee!--have sunk them deep In the dim bosom of our mother Earth; The ebon wand, the veil of bloody hue, Gone!--and I stand here helpless, to my foes No more a thing of terror, but of scorn! GORA. Then speak not of them if they'll serve thee not!