What terror when they neared the Sirens' lair, 355 Who soothe the troubled waves with witching measures! But Orpheus filled their souls with nobler pleasures, And left the foe in impotent despair. 360 And of this wild adventure what the prize, That lured the daring bark with heroes laden? The fleece of gold, and this mad Colchian maiden, Well fit to be the first ship's merchandize. The sea, subdued, the victor's law obeys; 365 No vessel needs a goddess' art in framing, Nor oars in heroes' hands, the ocean taming: The frailest craft now dares the roughest waves. Now, every bound removed, new cities rise 370 In lands remote, their ancient walls removing; While men of Ind by Caspian shores are roving, And Persia's face now greets the western skies. 375 The time will come, as lapsing ages flee, When every land shall yield its hidden treasure; When men no more shall unknown courses measure, For round the world no "farthest land" shall be. FOOTNOTES: [9] Reading, _Medea fugiam_, as a continuation of Medea's speech. [10] Retaining _si regnas, iube_ in Medea's speech. [11] Reading, _gloriae_. ACT III [Medea _is rushing out to seek vengeance, while the_ Nurse _tries in vain to restrain her_.] _Nurse:_ My foster-daughter, whither speedest thou abroad? 380 Oh, stay, I pray thee, and restrain thy passion's force. [Medea _hastens by without answering. The_ Nurse _soliloquizes_.] As some wild Bacchanal, whose fury's raging fire The god inflames, now roams distraught on Pindus' snows, And now on lofty Nysa's rugged slopes; so she, 385 Now here, now there, with frenzied step is hurried on, Her face revealing every mark of stricken woe, With flushing cheek and sighs deep drawn, wild cries, and tears, And laughter worse than tears. In her a medley strange Of every passion may be seen: o'ertopping wrath, 390 Bewailings, bitter groans of anguish. Whither tends This overburdened soul? What mean her frenzied threats? When will the foaming wave of fury spend itself? No common crime, I fear, no easy deed of ill She meditates. Herself she will outvie. For well I recognize the wonted marks of rage. Some deed Is threatening, wild, profane, and hideous. 395 [_Re-enter_ Medea.] Behold Her face betrays her madness. O ye gods, may these Our fears prove vain forebodings!