Old Aeson Restored to Youth

Medea, at the request of her husband, restores his aged father, Aeson, to the vigour and sprightliness of youth.

Aemonian matrons, who their absence mourn’d, Rejoice to see their prosp’rous sons reiurn’d: Rich curling fumes of incense feast the skies, A hecatomb of voted victims dies, With gilded horns, and garlands on their head, And all the pomp of death, to the altar led. Congratulating bowls go briskly round, Triumphant shouts in louder music drown’d. Amid these revels, why that cloud of care On Jason’s brow? (to whom the largest share Of mirth was due)⁠—his father was not there. Aeson was absent, once the young and brave, Now crush’d with years, and bending to the grave. At last withdrawn, and by the crowd unseen, Pressing her hand (with starting sighs between), He supplicates his kind and skilful queen.