A gulf, as wide as that which sunders joy
             Made perfect and grim death!  How change-less e’er
             Is Nature—­and man’s life and happiness
             How fitful, fleeting! 
             When I tell the tale
             Of my unhappy life, it is as though
             I listened, while another told it me,
             And now would stop him:  “Nay, that cannot be,
             My friend!  This woman here, that harbors dark
             And murderous thoughts—­how can she be the same
             That once, long years agone, on Colchis’ strand
             Trod, free and happy, ’neath these very stars,
             As pure, as mild, as free from any sin
             As new-born child upon its mother’s breast?”
             Where goes she, then?  She seeks the peasant’s hut
             To comfort the poor serf, whose little crops
             Were trampled by her father’s huntsmen late,
             And brings him gold to ease his bitter heart. 
             Why trips she down the forest-path?  She hastes
             To meet her brother who is waiting there
             In some green copse.  Together then they wend
             Homeward their way along the well-known path,
             Like twin-stars shining through the forest-gloom. 
             Another draweth nigh; his brow is crowned
             With coronet of gold; he is the King,
             Their royal father, and he lays his hand
             In blessing on their heads, and names them both
             His joy, his dearest treasure.—­Welcome, then,
             Most dear and friendly faces!  Are ye come
             To comfort me in this my loneliness? 
             Draw nearer, nearer yet!  I fain would look
             Into your eyes!  Dear brother, dost thou smile
             So friendly on me?  Ah, how fair thou art,
             My heart’s best treasure!  But my father’s face
             Is sober, earnest; yet he loves me still,
             Yea, loveth his good daughter!

[She springs up suddenly.]

Good?  Ha, good? 
’Tis a false lie!  For know, thou old, gray man,
She will betray thee, hath betrayed thee, thee,
Ay, and herself!  But thou didst curse her sore
“Know thou shalt be thrust forth
Like a beast of the wilderness,” thou saidst;
“Friendless and homeless, with no place
To lay thy head!  And he, for whom
Thou hast betrayed me, he will be
First to take vengeance on thee, first
To leave thee, thrust thee forth, and first
To slay thee!” See, thy words were true! 
For here I stand, thrust forth indeed,
By all men like a monster shunned,
Deserted by the wretch for whom
I gave thee up, and with no place
To lay me down; alas! not dead;
Black thoughts of murder in my heart!—­
Dost thou rejoice at thy revenge? 
Com’st closer?—­Children!  O my babes!