Translation From the "Medea" of Euripides

When fierce conflicting passions urge The breast, where love is wont to glow, What mind can stem the stormy surge Which rolls the tide of human woe? The hope of praise, the dread of shame, Can rouse the tortur'd breast no more; The wild desire, the guilty flame, Absorbs each wish it felt before. But if affection gently thrills The soul, by purer dreams possest, The pleasing balm of mortal ills In love can soothe the aching breast: If thus thou comest in disguise, Fair Venus!…