Classic Poem

Medea now dishonour'd and forlorn,
Her breast by grief and indignation torn,
Exclaims, Where's now the faith he swore so strong?
Invokes each god, the witness of her wrong.
Her wasted strength no due repast repairs,
No peaceful slumber frees her mind from cares,
In bitter tears consuming all the time,
She broods incessant o'er her husband's crime;
Extended upon earth's cold bed she lies,
Nor raises from the ground her weeping eyes,
Of grief insatiate, and deaf to joy,
In vain her friends each soothing art employ:
Sometimes her beauteous neck she upward turns,
And to herself her distant father mourns,
Her native soil, and home, which once so dear
She left to be betray'd and injur'd here:
She wretched feels how sweet it is to spend
Life unmolested in one's native land.
Her children now are odious to her sight,
Once pledges of reciprocal delight,
She sickens at their view, nor deigns to trace
Their father's hated features in their face.

But much I fear her vengeance 'gainst her foes,
Her mind indignant ill can brook her woes:
I know her well, and much her rage I dread
Lest she heap ruin on some destin'd head,
And with her husband's blood, or hers he wed,
Stain the bright honours of the nuptial bed.
Dreadful she is, — those who with her contend,
Will never boast their triumph in the end.

Unhappy princess, how I pity you!
But why detest your wretched children too?
Their father is the author of your tears;
But ah! have pity on their helpless years;
They never could offend, at least them spare,
They merit not your vengeance, but your care.
Ah! how I fear what evils may await
Their innocent, unguarded, infant state!

A thousand snares surround the rich and great,
Safety alone attends the middle state;
Free from the cares uneasy grandeur knows,
Be't mine to taste secure and sweet repose,
A quiet unmolested life to spend,
And meet by slow and gentle steps my end.
Uneasy cares alike invade the door
Of those who're proudly rich and meanly poor:
That heav'nly charm no other state bestows;
Tranquillity from moderation flows.
Security is to the great deny'd,
Harrass'd with toils and sears on ev'ry side,
And, in adversity's distressful hour,
They doubly feel misfortune's dreaded pow'r,
The ills of life they more than others know,
And sink beneath accumulated woe.