Then did night draw darkness over the earth; and on the sea sailors from their ships looked towards the Bear and the stars of Orion; and now the wayfarer and the warder longed for sleep, and the pall of slumber wrapped round the mother whose children were dead; nor was there any more the barking of dogs through the city, nor sound of men’s voices; but silence held the blackening gloom.  But not indeed upon Medea came sweet sleep.  For in her love for Aeson’s son many cares kept her wakeful, and she dreaded the mighty strength of the bulls, beneath whose fury he was like to perish by an unseemly fate in the field of Ares.  And fast did her heart throb within her breast, as a sunbeam quivers upon the walls of a house when flung up from water, which is just poured forth in a caldron or a pail may be; and hither and thither on the swift eddy does it dart and dance along; even so the maiden’s heart quivered in her breast.  And the tear of pity flowed from her eyes, and ever within anguish tortured her, a smouldering fire through her frame, and about her fine nerves and deep down beneath the nape of the neck where the pain enters keenest, whenever the unwearied Loves direct against the heart their shafts of agony.  And she thought now that she would give him the charms to cast a spell on the bulls, now that she would not, and that she herself would perish; and again that she would not perish and would not give the charms, but just as she was would endure her fate in silence.  Then sitting down she wavered in mind and said: 

“Poor wretch, must I toss hither and thither in woe?  On every side my heart is in despair; nor is there any help for my pain; but it burneth ever thus.  Would that I had been slain by the swift shafts of Artemis before I had set eyes on him, before Chalciope’s sons reached the Achaean land.  Some god or some Fury brought them hither for our grief, a cause of many tears.  Let him perish in the contest if it be his lot to die in the field.  For how could I prepare the charms without my parents’ knowledge?  What story can I tell them?  What trick, what cunning device for aid can I find?  If I see him alone, apart from his comrades, shall I greet him?  Ill-starred that I am!  I cannot hope that I should rest from my sorrows even though he perished; then will evil come to me when he is bereft of life.  Perish all shame, perish all glory; may he, saved by my effort, go scatheless wherever his heart desires.  But as for me, on the day when he bides the contest in triumph, may I die either straining my neck in the noose from the roof-tree or tasting drugs destructive of life.  But even so, when I am dead, they will fling out taunts against me; and every city far away will ring with my doom, and the Colchian women, tossing my name on their lips hither and thither, will revile me with unseemly mocking—­the maid who cared so much for a stranger that she died, the maid who disgraced her home and her parents, yielding to a mad passion.  And what disgrace will not be mine?  Alas for my infatuation!  Far better would it be for me to forsake life this very night in my chamber by some mysterious fate, escaping all slanderous reproach, before I complete such nameless dishonour.”