Now as Medea walks, dark echoes fill
The silence, hissing ancient spells. Fear falls.
Hill-spirits hide their faces. Rivers cringe.
Rocks cower. Stables, pastures, graveyards fill
With th'unearthly racket. Night, aghast, slows down
Her hours. Venus—her turn for fear!—hangs back.
They come to triple trees, the Night-queen's lair—
And Jason. Medea sees him, stops amazed.
Above them Iris soars—and Venus, too,
Slips from Medea's grasp and disappears.
So in the dark of night shepherd and flock
Share common panic; so in Hell's abyss
Blind, voiceless ghosts collide. Thus, in the midnight's grove,
Those two came on each other, all confused.
Aloof as firs they were, or cypresses,
Before the mad South Wind mates bough with bough.
They stood there rapt, face to wordless face, as night
Rolled on its way. Oh, lift your eyes, and speak!
Say something, Jason, please! Speak now! Speak first!
The hero saw her fear, saw rolling tears,
Saw burning cheeks, saw misery, saw shame.
He spoke at last, and comforted her love.