SCENE III

_Chorus._ Where hastes the blood-stained Mænad, headlong driven By angry love? What mischief plots her rage? With wrath her face grows rigid; her proud head She fiercely shakes; threatens the king in wrath. 825 Who would believe her exiled from the realm? Her cheeks glow crimson, pallor puts to flight The red, no color lingers on her face; Her steps are driven to and fro as when A tiger rages, of its young bereft, 830 Beside the Ganges in the gloomy woods. Medea knows not how to curb her love Or hate. Now love and hate together rage. When will she leave the fair Pelasgian fields, The wicked Colchian one, and free from fear 835 Our king and kingdom? Drive with no slow rein Thy car, Diana; let the sweet night hide The sunlight. Hesperus, end the dreaded day.