American Female Poets [an electronic edition]

MEDEA'S REVENGE.

MEDEA.

VENGEANCE hath had her perfect rites! Now, now, Welcome, ye hounds of Corinth! — for I hear Your distant voices clamouring for the prey, —Welcome! A woman's and a mother's hand

From your expectant grasp hath snatch'd the victims! In horrid safety lay the new-fledged eaglets, Whose eyes, just train'd to meet the sun's fierce glance, Relentless fate hath sealed in death. Death! —death! — Unfathomable mystery! my lips Speak thy familiar name, and yet my soul Rebels against thy power. Within my hand, Fearless, unfaltering, I hold the knife, Stern witness of thy doings, —near me lie, Insensible to hope or fear, the sons So loved, so worshipp'd, — but my heart feels not Thy presence, visible, palpable, though it be. For in the mirror of fast-flowing tears Imagination paints my children's forms; The music of their voices fills my ear. Enchantment of as strong, as blinding power To mortal reason, as a mother's love, Nor heaven nor hell can boast! And yet this hand, nerved by infernal rage, Hath stopp'd the gushing stream of life in veins Fed from the fountain of this heart! Ye gods! Dare I to talk of love? The very fiends Mock at the sound, and, as the shivering earth Gapes 'neath my feet accursed, from the abyss Swarm the dire brood; above, around, they press. They bar each avenue of escape, proclaim Me homeless and deserted of my kind, And in my tortured ear their serpent tongues Hiss forth a welcome to their vengeful band. Hence, horrid shapes! I'm human still! Hell taunts, Earth shakes, mankind rejects, yet here I sink Upon the bosoms of my slaughter'd babes, Here dare repose, nor powers of earth or hell Shall fright me hence; for here, at least, is peace. Peace to the young, pure hearts which ne'er shall throb

Beneath the burden of Life's guilt and woe, And peace to me, who in this marble stillness Behold Heaven's dearest boon. And now one glance, One last embrace, — the last on earth! The rose Hath scarce yet faded from your lips, my sons, The smile still lingers there, as life were loath To part from shrines so fair. Had ye awaked, As with despair's fell strength your wretched mother Grasp'd the dire steel, could I have done this deed? No, by the gods! The heart once task'd to the bounds Of Nature's great endurance, oft a word May strike with sudden force the quivering chord, And free the wearied soul. Devoted babes, Had sleep released you from its bonds, one glance Had been Apollo's messenger; my heart Had burst beneath its power, and ye had lived, — To glut Corinthian rage. I thank the gods It is not so! Upon your cheeks the icy chill of death Thrills through my veins; —'tis well, —I should be stern; For one task remains, and then —to rest! The step I watch for comes. Vengeance, instruct me To teach his heart some knowledge of the pangs Which rend my own!