Merope. Merope. A Tragedy. 1858. Matthew Arnold. 1909. The Poems of Matthew Arnold, 1840-1867

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Matthew Arnold (1822–88). The Poems of Matthew Arnold, 1840–1867. 1909.

Merope. A Tragedy. 1858

Merope

	PERSONS OF THE DRAMA

	LAIAS, uncle of AEPYTUS, brother of MEROPE.
	AEPYTUS, son of MEROPE and CRESPHONTES.
	POLYPHONTES, king of MESSENIA.
	MEROPE, widow of CRESPHONTES, the murdered king of MESSENIA.
	THE CHORUS, of MESSENIAN maidens.
	ARCAS, an old man of MEROPE’S household.
	MESSENGER.
	GUARDS, ATTENDANTS, &c.

	The Scene is before the royal palace in STENYCLAROS, the capital of MESSENIA. In the foreground is the tomb of CRESPHONTES. The action commences at day-break.

LAIAS. AEPYTUS

LAIAS

SON of Cresphontes, we have reach’d the goal

Of our night-journey, and thou see’st thy home.

Behold thy heritage, thy father’s realm!

This is that fruitful, fam’d Messenian land,

Wealthy in corn and flocks, which, when at last

The late-relenting Gods with victory brought

The Heracleidae back to Pelops’ isle,

Fell to thy father’s lot, the second prize.

Before thy feet this recent city spreads

Of Stenyclaros, which he built, and made

Of his fresh-conquer’d realm the royal seat,

Degrading Pylos from its ancient rule.

There stands the temple of thine ancestor,

Great Hercules; and, in that public place,

Zeus hath his altar, where thy father fell.

Thence to the south, behold those snowy peaks,

Taygetus, Laconia’s border-wall:

And, on this side, those confluent streams which make

Pamisus watering the Messenian plain:

Then to the north, Lycaeus and the hills

Of pastoral Arcadia, where, a babe

Snatch’d from the slaughter of thy father’s house,

Thy mother’s kin receiv’d thee, and rear’d up.—

Our journey is well made, the work remains

Which to perform we made it; means for that

Let us consult, before this palace sends

Its inmates on their daily tasks abroad.

Haste and advise, for day comes on apace.

AEPYTUS

O brother of my mother, guardian true,

And second father from that hour when first

My mother’s faithful servant laid me down,

An infant, at the hearth of Cypselus,

My grandfather, the good Arcadian king—

Thy part it were to advise, and mine to obey.

But let us keep that purpose, which, at home,

We judg’d the best; chance finds no better way.

Go thou into the city, and seek out

Whate’er in the Messenian city stirs

Of faithful fondness towards their former king

Or hatred to their present; in this last

Will lie, my grandsire said, our fairest chance.

For tyrants make man good beyond himself;

Hate to their rule, which else would die away,

Their daily-practis’d chafings keep alive.

Seek this; revive, unite it, give it hope;

Bid it rise boldly at the signal given.

Meanwhile within my father’s palace I,

An unknown guest, will enter, bringing word

Of my own death; but, Laias, well I hope

Through that pretended death to live and reign.

[THE CHORUS comes forth.

Softly, stand back!—see, tow’rd the palace gates

What black procession slowly makes approach?—

Sad-chanting maidens clad in mourning robes,

With pitchers in their hands, and fresh-pull’d flowers:

Doubtless, they bear them to my father’s tomb.—

[MEROPE comes forth.

And see, to meet them, that one, grief-plung’d Form,

Severer, paler, statelier than they all,

A golden circlet on her queenly brow.—

O Laias, Laias, let the heart speak here!

Shall I not greet her? shall I not leap forth?

[POLYPHONTES comes forth, following MEROPE.

LAIAS

Not so: thy heart would pay its moment’s speech

By silence ever after; for, behold!

The King (I know him, even through many years)

Follows the issuing Queen, who stops, as call’d.

No lingering now! straight to the city I:

Do thou, till for thine entrance to this house

The happy moment comes, lurk here unseen

Behind the shelter of thy father’s tomb:

Remove yet further off, if aught comes near.

But, here while harbouring, on its margin lay,

Sole offering that thou hast, locks from thy head:

And fill thy leisure with an earnest prayer

To his avenging Shade, and to the Gods

Who under earth watch guilty deeds of men,

To guide our effort to a prosperous close.

[LAIAS goes out. POLYPHONTES, MEROPE, and THE CHORUS come forward. As they advance, AEPYTUS, who at first conceals himself behind the tomb, moves off the stage

POLYPHONTES ( THE CHORUS)

Set down your pitchers, maidens! and fall back;

Suspend your melancholy rites awhile:

Shortly ye shall resume them with your Queen.—

(To MEROPE)

I sought thee, Merope; I find thee thus,

As I have ever found thee; bent to keep,

By sad observances and public grief,

A mournful feud alive, which else would die.

I blame thee not, I do thy heart no wrong:

Thy deep seclusion, thine unyielding gloom,

Thine attitude of cold, estrang’d reproach,

These punctual funeral honours, year by year

Repeated, are in thee, I well believe,

Courageous, faithful actions, nobly dar’d.

But, Merope, the eyes of other men

Read in these actions, innocent in thee,

Perpetual promptings to rebellious hope,

War-cries to faction, year by year renew’d,

Beacons of vengeance, not to be let die.

And me, believe it, wise men gravely blame,

And ignorant men despise me, that I stand

Passive, permitting thee what course thou wilt.

Yes, the crowd mutters that remorseful fear

And paralysing conscience stop my arm,

When it should pluck thee from thy hostile way.

All this I bear, for, what I seek, I know;

100

Peace, peace is what I seek, and public calm:

Endless extinction of unhappy hates:

Union cemented for this nation’s weal.

And even now, if to behold me here,

This day, amid these rites, this black-rob’d train,

105

Wakens, O Queen! remembrance in thy heart

Too wide at variance with the peace I seek—

I will not violate thy noble grief,

The prayer I came to urge I will defer.

MEROPE

This day, to-morrow, yesterday, alike

110

I am, I shall be, have been, in my mind

Tow’rds thee; towards thy silence as thy speech.

Speak, therefore, or keep silence, which thou wilt.

POLYPHONTES

Hear me, then, speak; and let this mournful day,

The twentieth anniversary of strife,

115

Henceforth be honour’d as the date of peace.

Yes, twenty years ago this day beheld

The king Cresphontes, thy great husband, fall:

It needs no yearly offerings at his tomb

To keep alive that memory in my heart;

120

It lives, and, while I see the light, will live.

For we were kinsmen—more than kinsmen—friends:

Together we had sprung, together liv’d;

Together to this isle of Pelops came

To take the inheritance of Hercules;

125

Together won this fair Messenian land—

Alas, that, how to rule it, was our broil!

He had his counsel, party, friends—I mine;

He stood by what he wish’d for—I the same;

I smote him, when our wishes clash’d in arms;

130

He had smit me, had he been swift as I.

But while I smote him, Queen, I honour’d him;

Me, too, had he prevail’d, he had not scorn’d.

Enough of this!—since then, I have maintain’d

The sceptre—not remissly let it fall—

135

And I am seated on a prosperous throne:

Yet still, for I conceal it not, ferments

In the Messenian people what remains

Of thy dead husband’s faction; vigorous once,

Now crush’d but not quite lifeless by his fall.

140

And these men look to thee, and from thy grief—

Something too studiously, forgive me, shown—

Infer thee their accomplice; and they say

That thou in secret nurturest up thy son,

Him whom thou hiddest when thy husband fell,

145

To avenge that fall, and bring them back to power.

Such are their hopes—I ask not if by thee

Willingly fed or no—their most vain hopes;

For I have kept conspiracy fast-chain’d

Till now, and I have strength to chain it still.

150

But, Merope, the years advance;—I stand

Upon the threshold of old age, alone,

Always in arms, always in face of foes.

The long repressive attitude of rule

Leaves me austerer, sterner, than I would;

155

Old age is more suspicious than the free

And valiant heart of youth, or manhood’s firm,

Unclouded reason; I would not decline

Into a jealous tyrant, scourg’d with fears,

Closing, in blood and gloom, his sullen reign.

160

The cares which might in me with time, I feel,

Beget a cruel temper, help me quell;

The breach between our parties help me close;

Assist me to rule mildly: let us join

Our hands in solemn union, making friends

165

Our factions with the friendship of their chiefs.

Let us in marriage, King and Queen, unite

Claims ever hostile else; and set thy son—

No more an exile fed on empty hopes,

And to an unsubstantial title heir,

170

But prince adopted by the will of power,

And future king—before this people’s eyes.

Consider him; consider not old hates:

Consider, too, this people, who were dear

To their dead king, thy husband—yea, too dear,

175

For that destroy’d him. Give them peace; thou can’st.

O Merope, how many noble thoughts,

How many precious feelings of man’s heart,

How many loves, how many gratitudes,

Do twenty years wear out, and see expire!

180

Shall they not wear one hatred out as well?

MEROPE

Thou hast forgot, then, who I am who hear,

And who thou art who speakest to me? I

Am Merope, thy murder’d master’s wife …

And thou art Polyphontes, first his friend,

185

And then … his murderer. These offending tears

That murder draws … this breach that thou would’st close

Was by that murder open’d … that one child

(If still, indeed, he lives) whom thou would’st seat

Upon a throne not thine to give, is heir

190

Because thou slew’st his brothers with their father …

Who can patch union here?… What can there be

But everlasting horror ’twixt us two,

Gulfs of estranging blood?… Across that chasm

Who can extend their hands?… Maidens, take back

195

These offerings home! our rites are spoil’d today.

POLYPHONTES

Not so: let these Messenian maidens mark

The fear’d and blacken’d ruler of their race,

Albeit with lips unapt to self-excuse,

Blow off the spot of murder from his name.—

200

Murder!—but what is murder? When a wretch

For private gain or hatred takes a life,

We call it murder, crush him, brand his name:

But when, for some great public cause, an arm

Is, without love or hate, austerely rais’d

205

Against a Power exempt from common checks,

Dangerous to all, to be but thus annull’d—

Ranks any man with murder such an act?

With grievous deeds, perhaps; with murder—no!

Find then such cause, the charge of murder falls:

210

Be judge thyself if it abound not here.—

All know how weak the Eagle, Hercules,

Soaring from his death-pile on Oeta, left

His puny, callow Eaglets; and what trials—

Infirm protectors, dubious oracles

215

Construed awry, misplann’d invasions—us’d

Two generations of his offspring up;

Hardly the third, with grievous loss, regain’d

Their fathers’ realm, this isle, from Pelops nam’d.—

Who made that triumph, though deferr’d, secure?

220

Who, but the kinsmen of the royal brood

Of Hercules, scarce Heracleidae less

Than they? these, and the Dorian lords, whose king

Aegimius gave our outcast house a home

When Thebes, when Athens dar’d not; who in arms

225

Thrice issued with us from their pastoral vales,

And shed their blood like water in our cause?—

Such were the dispossessors: of what stamp

Were they we dispossessed?—of us I speak,

Who to Messenia with thy husband came—

230

I speak not now of Argos, where his brother,

Not now of Sparta, where his nephews reign’d:—

What we found here were tribes of fame obscure,

Much turbulence, and little constancy,

Precariously rul’d by foreign lords

235

From the Aeolian stock of Neleus sprung,

A house once great, now dwindling in its sons.

Such were the conquer’d, such the conquerors: who

Had most thy husband’s confidence? Consult

His acts; the wife he chose was—full of virtues—

240

But an Arcadian princess, more akin

To his new subjects than to us; his friends

Were the Messenian chiefs; the laws he fram’d

Were aim’d at their promotion, our decline;

And, finally, this land, then half-subdued,

245

Which from one central city’s guarded seat

As from a fastness in the rocks our scant

Handful of Dorian conquerors might have curb’d,

He parcell’d out in five confederate states,

Sowing his victors thinly through them all,

250

Mere prisoners, meant or not, among our foes.

If this was fear of them, it sham’d the king:

If jealousy of us, it sham’d the man.—

Long we refrain’d ourselves, submitted long,

Construed his acts indulgently, rever’d,

255

Though found perverse, the blood of Hercules:

Reluctantly the rest; but, against all,

One voice preach’d patience, and that voice was mine.

At last it reach’d us, that he, still mistrustful,

Deeming, as tyrants deem, our silence hate,

260

Unadulating grief conspiracy,

Had to this city, Stenyclaros, call’d

A general assemblage of the realm,

With compact in that concourse to deliver,

For death, his ancient to his new-made friends.

265

Patience was thenceforth self-destruction. I,

I his chief kinsman, I his pioneer

And champion to the throne, I honouring most

Of men the line of Hercules, preferr’d

The many of that lineage to the one:

270

What his foes dar’d not, I, his lover, dar’d:

I, at that altar, where mid shouting crowds

He sacrific’d, our ruin in his heart,

To Zeus, before he struck his blow, struck mine:

Struck once, and aw’d his mob, and sav’d this realm.

275

Murder let others call this, if they will;

I, self-defence and righteous execution.

MEROPE

Alas, how fair a colour can his tongue,

Who self-exculpates, lend to foulest deeds.

Thy trusting lord didst thou, his servant, slay;

280

Kinsman, thou slew’st thy kinsman; friend, thy friend:

This were enough; but let me tell thee, too,

Thou hadst no cause, as feign’d, in his misrule.

For ask at Argos, ask in Lacedaemon,

Whose people, when the Heracleidae came,

285

Were hunted out, and to Achaia fled,

Whether is better, to abide alone,

A wolfish band, in a dispeopled realm,

Or conquerors with conquer’d to unite

Into one puissant folk, as he design’d?

290

These sturdy and unworn Messenian tribes,

Who shook the fierce Neleidae on their throne,

Who to the invading Dorians stretch’d a hand,

And half bestow’d, half yielded up their soil—

He would not let his savage chiefs alight,

295

A cloud of vultures, on this vigorous race;

Ravin a little while in spoil and blood,

Then, gorg’d and helpless, be assail’d and slain.

He would have sav’d you from your furious selves,

Not in abhorr’d estrangement let you stand;

300

He would have mix’d you with your friendly foes,

Foes dazzled with your prowess, well inclin’d

To reverence your lineage, more, to obey:

So would have built you, in a few short years,

A just, therefore a safe, supremacy.

305

For well he knew, what you, his chiefs, did not—

How of all human rules the over-tense

Are apt to snap; the easy-stretch’d endure.—

O gentle wisdom, little understood!

O arts, above the vulgar tyrant’s reach!

310

O policy too subtle far for sense

Of heady, masterful, injurious men!

This good he meant you, and for this he died.

Yet not for this—else might thy crime in part

Be error deem’d—but that pretence is vain.

315

For, if ye slew him for suppos’d misrule,

Injustice to his kin and Dorian friends,

Why with the offending father did ye slay

Two unoffending babes, his innocent sons?

Why not on them have plac’d the forfeit crown,

320

Rul’d in their name, and train’d them to your will?

Had they misrul’d? had they forgot their friends?

Forsworn their blood? ungratefully had they

Preferr’d Messenian serfs to Dorian lords?

No: but to thy ambition their poor lives

325

Were bar; and this, too, was their father’s crime.

That thou might’st reign he died, not for his fault

Even fancied; and his death thou wroughtest chief.

For, if the other lords desir’d his fall

Hotlier than thou, and were by thee kept back,

330

Why dost thou only profit by his death?

Thy crown condemns thee, while thy tongue absolves.

And now to me thou tenderest friendly league,

And to my son reversion to thy throne:

Short answer is sufficient; league with thee,

335

For me I deem such impious; and for him,

Exile abroad more safe than heirship here.

POLYPHONTES

I ask thee not to approve thy husband’s death,

No, nor expect thee to admit the grounds,

In reason good, which justified my deed:

340

With women the heart argues, not the mind.

But, for thy children’s death, I stand assoil’d:

I sav’d them, meant them honour: but thy friends

Rose, and with fire and sword assailed my house

By night; in that blind tumult they were slain.

345

To chance impute their deaths, then, not to me.

MEROPE

Such chance as kill’d the father, kill’d the sons.

POLYPHONTES

One son at least I spar’d, for still he lives.

MEROPE

Tyrants think him they murder not they spare.

POLYPHONTES

Not much a tyrant thy free speech displays me.

350

MEROPE

Thy shame secures my freedom, not thy will.

POLYPHONTES

Shame rarely checks the genuine tyrant’s will.

MEROPE

One merit, then, thou hast: exult in that.

POLYPHONTES

Thou standest out, I see, repellest peace.

MEROPE

Thy sword repell’d it long ago, not I.

355

POLYPHONTES

Doubtless thou reckonest on the hope of friends.

MEROPE

Not help of men, although, perhaps, of Gods.

POLYPHONTES

What Gods? the Gods of concord, civil weal?

MEROPE

No: the avenging Gods, who punish crime.

POLYPHONTES

Beware! from thee upbraidings I receive

360

With pity, nay, with reverence; yet, beware!

I know, I know how hard it is to think

That right, that conscience pointed to a deed,

Where interest seems to have enjoin’d it too.

Most men are led by interest; and the few

365

Who are not, expiate the general sin,

Involv’d in one suspicion with the base.

Dizzy the path and perilous the way

Which in a deed like mine a just man treads,

But it is sometimes trodden, oh! believe it.

370

Yet how canst thou believe it? therefore thou

Hast all impunity. Yet, lest thy friends,

Embolden’d by my lenience, think it fear,

And count on like impunity, and rise,

And have to thank thee for a fall, beware!

375

To rule this kingdom I intend: with sway

Clement, if may be, but to rule it: there

Expect no wavering, no retreat, no change.—

And now I leave thee to these rites, esteem’d

Pious, but impious, surely, if their scope

380

Be to foment old memories of wrath.

Pray, as thou pour’st libations on this tomb,

To be delivered from thy foster’d hate,

Unjust suspicion, and erroneous fear.

[POLYPHONTES goes into the palace. THE CHORUS and MEROPE approach the tomb with their offerings.

THE CHORUS

Draw, draw near to the tomb. strophe.

385

Lay honey-cakes on its marge,

Pour the libation of milk,

Deck it with garlands of flowers.

Tears fall thickly the while!

Behold, O King, from the dark

390

House of the grave, what we do.

O Arcadian hills, antistrophe.

Send us the Youth whom ye hide,

Girt with his coat for the chase,

With the low broad hat of the tann’d

395

Hunter o’ershadowing his brow:

Grasping firm, in his hand

Advanc’d, two javelins, not now

Dangerous alone to the deer.

MEROPE

What shall I bear, O lost str. 1.

400

Husband and King, to thy grave?—

Pure libations, and fresh

Flowers? But thou, in the gloom,

Discontented, perhaps,

Demandest vengeance, not grief?

405

Sternly requirest a man,

Light to spring up to thy race?

THE CHORUS

Vengeance, O Queen, is his due, str. e.

His most just prayer: yet his race—

If that might soothe him below—

410

Prosperous, mighty, came back

In the third generation, the way

Order’d by Fate, to their home.

And now, glorious, secure,

Fill the wealth-giving thrones

415

Of their heritage, Pelops’ isle.

MEROPE

Suffering sent them, Death ant. 1.

March’d with them, Hatred and Strife

Met them entering their halls.

For from the day when the first

420

Heracleidae receiv’d

That Delphic hest to return,

What hath involv’d them but blind

Error on error, and blood?

THE CHORUS

Truly I hear of a Maid ant. 2.

425

Of that stock born, who bestow’d

Her blood that so she might make

Victory sure to her race,

When the fight hung in doubt: but she now,

Honour’d and sung of by all,

430

Far on Marathon plain

Gives her name to the spring

Macaria; blessed Child.

MEROPE

She led the way of death. str. 3.

And the plain of Tegea,

435

And the grave of Orestes—

Where, in secret seclusion

Of his unreveal’d tomb,

Sleeps Agamemnon’s unhappy,

Matricidal, world-fam’d,

440

Seven-cubit-statur’d son—

Sent forth Echemus, the victor, the king,

By whose hand, at the Isthmus,

At the Fate-denied Straits,

Fell the eldest of the sons of Hercules,

445

Hyllus, the chief of his house.—

Brother follow’d sister

The all-wept way.

THE CHORUS

Yes; but his son’s seed, wiser-counsell’d,

Sail’d by the Fate-meant Gulf to their conquest;

450

Slew their enemies’ king, Tisamenus.

Wherefore accept that happier omen!

Yet shall restorers appear to the race.

MEROPE

Three brothers won the field, ant. 3.

And to two did Destiny

455

Give the thrones that they conquer’d.

But the third, what delays him

From his unattain’d crown?…

Ah Pylades and Electra,

Ever faithful, untir’d,

460

Jealous, blood-exacting friends!

Ye lie watching for the foe of your kin,

In the passes of Delphi,

In the temple-built gorge.—

There the youngest of the band of conquerors

465

Perish’d, in sight of the goal.

Grandson follow’d sire

The all-wept way.

THE CHORUS

Thou tellest the fate of the last str. 4.

Of the three Heracleidae.

470

Not of him, of Cresphontes thou shared’st the lot.

A king, a king was he while he liv’d,

Swaying the sceptre with predestin’d hand.

And now, minister lov’d,

Holds rule——

MEROPE

Ah me … Ah …

475

THE CHORUS

For the awful Monarchs below.

MEROPE

Thou touchest the worst of my ills. str. 5.

Oh had he fallen of old

At the Isthmus, in fight with his foes,

By Achaian, Arcadian spear!

480

Then had his sepulchre risen

On the high sea-bank, in the sight

Of either Gulf, and remain’d

All-regarded afar,

Noble memorial of worth

485

Of a valiant Chief, to his own.

THE CHORUS

There rose up a cry in the streets ant. 4.

From the terrified people.

From the altar of Zeus, from the crowd, came a wail.

A blow, a blow was struck, and he fell,

490

Sullying his garment with dark-streaming blood:

While stood o’er him a Form—

Some Form——

MEROPE

Ah me … Ah …

THE CHORUS

Of a dreadful Presence of fear.

MEROPE

More piercing the second cry rang, ant. 5.

495

Wail’d from the palace within,

From the Children.… The Fury to them,

Fresh from their father, draws near.

Ah bloody axe! dizzy blows!

In these ears, they thunder, they ring,

500

These poor ears, still:—and these eyes

Night and day see them fall,

Fiery phantoms of death,

On the fair, curl’d heads of my sons.

THE CHORUS

Not to thee only hath come str. 6.

505

Sorrow, O Queen, of mankind.

Had not Electra to haunt

A palace defil’d by a death unaveng’d,

For years, in silence, devouring her heart?

But her nursling, her hope, came at last.

510

Thou, too, rearest in joy,

Far ’mid Arcadian hills,

Somewhere, in safety, a nursling, a light.

Yet, yet shall Zeus bring him home!

Yet shall he dawn on this land!

515

MEROPE

Him in secret, in tears, str. 7.

Month after month, through the slow-dragging year,

Longing, listening, I wait, I implore.

But he comes not. What dell,

O Erymanthus! from sight

520

Of his mother, which of thy glades,

O Lycaeus! conceals

The happy hunter? He basks

In youth’s pure morning, nor thinks

On the blood-stain’d home of his birth.

525

THE CHORUS

Give not thy heart to despair. ant. 6.

No lamentation can loose

Prisoners of death from the grave:

But Zeus, who accounteth thy quarrel his own,

Still rules, still watches, and numbers the hours

530

Till the sinner, the vengeance, be ripe.

Still, by Acheron stream,

Terrible Deities thron’d

Sit, and make ready the serpent, the scourge.

Still, still the Dorian boy,

535

Exil’d, remembers his home.

MEROPE

Him if high-ruling Zeus ant. 7.

Bring to his mother, the rest I commit,

Willing, patient, to Zeus, to his care.

Blood I ask not. Enough

540

Sated, and more than enough,

Are mine eyes with blood. But if this,

O my comforters! strays

Amiss from Justice, the Gods

Forgive my folly, and work

545

What they will!—but to me give my son!

THE CHORUS

Hear us and help us, Shade of our King! str. 8.

MEROPE

A return, O Father! give to thy boy! str. 9.

THE CHORUS

Send an avenger, Gods of the dead! ant. 8.

MEROPE

An avenger I ask not: send me my son! ant. 9.

550

THE CHORUS

O Queen, for an avenger to appear,

Thinking that so I pray’d aright, I pray’d:

If I pray’d wrongly, I revoke the prayer.

MEROPE

Forgive me, maidens, if I seem too slack

In calling vengeance on a murderer’s head.

555

Impious I deem the alliance which he asks;

Requite him words severe, for seeming kind;

And righteous, if he falls, I count his fall.

With this, to those unbrib’d inquisitors,

Who in man’s inmost bosom sit and judge,

560

The true avengers these, I leave his deed,

By him shown fair, but, I believe, most foul.

If these condemn him, let them pass his doom!

That doom obtain effect, from Gods or men!

So be it! yet will that more solace bring

565

To the chaf’d heart of Justice than to mine.—

To hear another tumult in these streets,

To have another murder in these halls,

To see another mighty victim bleed—

There is small comfort for a woman here.

570

A woman, O my friends, has one desire—

To see secure, to live with, those she loves.

Can Vengeance give me back the murdered? no!

Can it bring home my child? Ah, if it can,

I pray the Furies’ ever-restless band,

575

And pray the Gods, and pray the all-seeing Sun—

‘Sun, who careerest through the height of Heaven,

When o’er the Arcadian forests thou art come,

And seest my stripling hunter there afield,

Put tightness in thy gold-embossèd rein,

580

And check thy fiery steeds, and, leaning back,

Throw him a pealing word of summons down,

To come, a late avenger, to the aid

Of this poor soul who bore him, and his sire.’

If this will bring him back, be this my prayer!—

585

But Vengeance travels in a dangerous way,

Double of issue, full of pits and snares

For all who pass, pursuers and pursued—

That way is dubious for a mother’s prayer.

Rather on thee I call, Husband belov’d!—

590

May Hermes, herald of the dead, convey

My words below to thee, and make thee hear.—

Bring back our son! if may be, without blood!

Install him in thy throne, still without blood!

Grant him to reign there wise and just like thee,

595

More fortunate than thee, more fairly judg’d!

This for our son: and for myself I pray,

Soon, having once beheld him, to descend

Into the quiet gloom, where thou art now.

These words to thine indulgent ear, thy wife,

600

I send, and these libations pour the while.

[They make their offerings at the tomb. MEROPE then goes towards the palace.

THE CHORUS

The dead hath now his offerings duly paid.

But whither go’st thou hence, O Queen, away?

MEROPE

To receive Arcas, who to-day should come,

Bringing me of my boy the annual news.

605

THE CHORUS

No certain news if like the rest it run.

MEROPE

Certain in this, that ’tis uncertain still.

THE CHORUS

What keeps him in Arcadia from return?

MEROPE

His grandsire and his uncles fear the risk.

THE CHORUS

Of what? it lies with them to make risk none.

610

MEROPE

Discovery of a visit made by stealth.

THE CHORUS

With arms then they should send him, not by stealth.

MEROPE

With arms they dare not, and by stealth they fear.

THE CHORUS

I doubt their caution little suits their ward.

MEROPE

The heart of youth I know; that most I fear.

615

THE CHORUS

I augur thou wilt hear some bold resolve.

MEROPE

I dare not wish it; but, at least, to hear

That my son still survives, in health, in bloom;

To hear that still he loves, still longs for, me;

Yet, with a light uncareworn spirit, turns

620

Quick from distressful thought, and floats in joy—

Thus much from Areas, my old servant true,

Who sav’d him from these murderous halls a babe,

And since has fondly watch’d him night and day

Save for this annual charge, I hope to hear.

625

If this be all, I know not; but I know,

These many years I live for this alone.

[MEROPE goes in.

THE CHORUS

Much is there which the Sea str. 1.

Conceals from man, who cannot plumb its depths.

Air to his unwing’d form denies a way,

630

And keeps its liquid solitudes unscal’d.

Even Earth, whereon he treads,

So feeble is his march, so slow,

Holds countless tracts untrod.

But, more than all unplumb’d, ant. 1.

635

Unscal’d, untrodden, is the heart of Man.

More than all secrets hid, the way it keeps.

Nor any of our organs so obtuse,

Inaccurate, and frail,

As those with which we try to test

640

Feelings and motives there.

Yea, and not only have we not explor’d str. 2.

That wide and various world, the heart of others,

But even our own heart, that narrow world

Bounded in our own breast, we hardly know,

645

Of our own actions dimly trace the causes.

Whether a natural obscureness, hiding

That region in perpetual cloud,

Or our own want of effort, be the bar.

Therefore—while acts are from their motives judg’d, ant. 2.

650

And to one act many most unlike motives,

This pure, that guilty may have each impell’d—

Power fails us to try clearly if that cause

Assign’d us by the actor be the true one:

Power fails the man himself to fix distinctly

655

The cause which drew him to his deed,

And stamp himself, thereafter, bad or good.

The most are bad, wise men have said. str. 3.

Let the best rule, they say again.

The best, then, to dominion have the right.

660

Rights unconceded and denied,

Surely, if rights, may be by force asserted—

May be, nay should, if for the general weal.

The best, then, to the throne may carve his way,

And hew opposers down,

665

Free from all guilt of lawlessness,

Or selfish lust of personal power:

Bent only to serve Virtue,

Bent to diminish wrong.

And truly, in this ill-rul’d world, ant. 3.

670

Well sometimes may the good desire

To give to Virtue her dominion due.

Well may they long to interrupt

The reign of Folly, usurpation ever,

Though fenc’d by sanction of a thousand years.

675

Well thirst to drag the wrongful ruler down.

Well purpose to pen back

Into the narrow path of right,

The ignorant, headlong multitude,

Who blindly follow ever

680

Blind leaders, to their bane.

But who can say, without a fear, str. 4.

That best, who ought to rule, am I;

The mob, who ought to obey, are these;

I the one righteous, they the many bad?—

685

Who, without check of conscience, can aver

That he to power makes way by arms,

Sheds blood, imprisons, banishes, attaints,

Commits all deeds the guilty oftenest do,

Without a single guilty thought,

690

Arm’d for right only, and the general good?

Therefore, with censure unallay’d, ant. 4.

Therefore, with unexcepting ban,

Zeus and pure-thoughted Justice brand

Imperious self-asserting Violence.

695

Sternly condemn the too bold man, who dares

Elect himself Heaven’s destin’d arm.

And, knowing well man’s inmost heart infirm,

However noble the committer be,

His grounds however specious shown,

700

Turn with averted eyes from deeds of blood.

Thus, though a woman, I was school’d epode.

By those whom I revere.

Whether I learnt their lessons well,

Or, having learnt them, well apply

705

To what hath in this house befall’n,

If in the event be any proof,

The event will quickly show.

[AEPYTUS comes in.

AEPYTUS

Maidens, assure me if they told me true

Who told me that the royal house was here.

710

THE CHORUS

Rightly they told thee, and thou art arriv’d.

AEPYTUS

Here, then, it is, where Polyphontes dwells?

THE CHORUS

He doth: thou hast both house and master right.

AEPYTUS

Might some one straight inform him he is sought?

THE CHORUS

Inform him that thyself, for here he comes.

[POLYPHONTES comes forth, with ATTENDANTS and GUARDS.

715

AEPYTUS

O king, all hail! I come with weighty news:

Most likely, grateful; but, in all case, sure.

POLYPHONTES

Speak them, that I may judge their kind myself.

AEPYTUS

Accept them in one word, for good or bad:

Aepytus, the Messenian prince, is dead!

720

POLYPHONTES

Dead!—and when died he? where? and by what hand?

And who art thou, who bringest me such news?

AEPYTUS

He perish’d in Arcadia, where he liv’d

With Cypselus; and two days since he died.

One of the train of Cypselus am I.

725

POLYPHONTES

Instruct me of the manner of his death.

AEPYTUS

That will I do, and to this end I came.

For, being of like age, of birth not mean,

The son of an Arcadian noble, I

Was chosen his companion from a boy;

730

And on the hunting-rambles which his heart,

Unquiet, drove him ever to pursue,

Through all the lordships of the Arcadian dales

From chief to chief, I wander’d at his side,

The captain of his squires, and his guard.

735

On such a hunting-journey, three morns since,

With beaters, hounds, and huntsmen, he and I

Set forth from Tegea, the royal town.

The prince at start seem’d sad, but his regard

Clear’d with blithe travel and the morning air.

740

We rode from Tegea, through the woods of oaks,

Past Arnê spring, where Rhea gave the babe

Poseidon to the shepherd-boys to hide

From Saturn’s search among the new-yean’d lambs,

To Mantinea, with its unbak’d walls;

745

Thence, by the Sea-God’s Sanctuary, and the tomb

Whither from wintry Maenalus were brought

The bones of Arcas, whence our race is nam’d,

On, to the marshy Orchomenian plain,

And the Stone Coffins;—then, by Caphyae Cliffs,

750

To Pheneos with its craggy citadel.

There, with the chief of that hill-town, we log’d

One night; and the next day, at dawn, far’d on

By the Three Fountains and the Adder’s Hill

To the Stymphalian Lake, our journey’s end,

755

To draw the coverts on Cyllene’s side.

There, on a grassy spur which bathes its root

Far in the liquid lake, we sate, and drew

Cates from our hunters’ pouch, Arcadian fare,

Sweet chestnuts, barely-cakes, and boar’s-flesh dried:

760

And as we ate, and rested there, we talk’d

Of places we had pass’d, sport we had had,

Of beasts of chase that haunt the Arcadian hills,

Wild hog, and bear, and mountain-deer, and roe:

Last, of our quarters with the Arcadian hills,

765

For courteous entertainment, welcome warm,

Sad, reverential homage, had our prince

From all, for his great lineage and his woes:

All which he own’d, and prais’d with grateful mind.

But still over his speech a gloom there hung,

770

As of one shadow’d by impending death;

And strangely, as we talk’d, he would apply

The story of spots mention’d to his own:

Telling us, Arnê minded him, he too

Was sav’d a babe, but to a life obscure,

775

Which he, the seed of Hercules, dragg’d on

Inglorious, and should drop at last unknown,

Even as those dead unepitaph’d, who lie

In the stone coffins at Orchomenus.

And, then, he bade remember how we pass’d

780

The Mantinean Sanctuary, forbid

To foot of mortal, where his ancestor,

Nam’d Aepytus like him, having gone in,

Was blinded by the outgushing springs of brine.

Then, turning westward to the Adder’s Hill—

785

Another ancestor, nam’d, too, like me,

Died of a snake-bite, said he, on that brow:

Still at his mountain tomb men marvel, built

Where, as life ebb’d, his bearers laid him down.

So he play’d on; then ended, with a smile—

790

This region is not happy for my race.

We cheer’d him; but, that moment, from the copse

By the lake-edge, broke the sharp cry of hounds;

The prickers shouted that the stage was gone:

We sprang upon our feet, we snatch’d our spears,

795

We bounded down the swarded slope, we plung’d

Through the dense ilex-thickets to the dogs.

Far in the woods ahead their music rang;

And many times that morn we cours’d in ring

The forests round which belt Cyllene’s side;

800

Till I, thrown out and tired, came to halt

On the same spur where we had sate at morn.

And resting there to breathe, I saw below

Rare, straggling hunters, foil’d by brake and crag,

And the prince, single, pressing on the rear

805

Of that unflagging quarry and the hounds.

Now, in the woods far down, I saw them cross

An open glade; now he was high aloft

On some tall scar fring’d with dark feathery pines,

Peering to spy a goat-track down the cliff,

810

Cheering with hand, and voice, and horn his dogs.

At last the cry drew to the water’s edge—

And through the brushwood, to the pebbly strand,

Broke, black with sweat, the antler’d mountain stag,

And took the lake: two hounds alone pursued;

815

Then came the prince—he shouted and plung’d in.—

There is a chasm rifted in the base

Of that unfooted precipice, whose rock

Walls on one side the deep Stymphalian Lake:

There the lake-waters, which in ages gone

820

Wash’d, as the marks upon the hills still show,

All the Stymphalian plain, are now suck’d down.

A headland, with one aged plane-tree crown’d,

Parts from the cave-pierc’d cliff the shelving bay

Where first the chase plung’d in: the bay is smooth,

825

But round the headland’s point a current sets,

Strong, black, tempestuous, to the cavern-mouth.

Stoutly, under the headland’s lee, they swam:

But when they came abreast the point, the race

Caught them, as wind takes feathers, whirl’d them round

830

Struggling in vain to cross it, swept them on,

Stag, dogs, and hunter, to the yawning gulph.

All this, O king, not piecemeal, as to thee

Now told, but in one flashing instant pass’d:

While from the turf whereon I lay I sprang,

835

And took three strides, quarry and dogs were gone;

A moment more—I saw the prince turn round

Once in the black and arrowy race, and cast

One arm aloft for help; then sweep beneath

The low-brow’d cavern-arch, and disappear.

840

And what I could, I did—to call by cries

Some straggling hunters to my aid, to rouse

Fishers who live on the lake-side, to launch

Boats, and approach, near as we dar’d, the chasm.

But of the prince nothing remain’d, save this,

845

His boar-spear’s broken shaft, back on the lake

Cast by the rumbling subterranean stream;

And this, at landing spied by us and sav’d,

His broad-brimm’d hunter’s hat, which, in the bay,

Where first the stag took water, floated still.

850

And I across the mountains brought with haste

To Cypselus, at Basilis, this news:

Basilis, his new city, which he now

Near Lycosura builds, Lycaon’s town,

First city founded on the earth by men.

855

He to thee sends me on, in one thing glad

While all else grieves him, that his grandchild’s death

Extinguishes distrust ’twixt him and thee.

But I from our deplor’d mischance learn this—

The man who to untimely death is doom’d,

860

Vainly you hedge him from the assault of harm;

He bears the seed of ruin in himself.

THE CHORUS

So dies the last shoot of our royal tree!

Who shall tell Merope this heavy news?

POLYPHONTES

Stranger, the news thou bringest is too great

865

For instant comment, having many sides

Of import, and in silence best receiv’d,

Whether it turn at last to joy or woe.

But thou, the zealous bearer, hast no part

In what it has of painful, whether now,

870

First heard, or in its future issue shown.

Thou for thy labour hast deserv’d our best

Refreshment, needed by thee, as I judge,

With mountain-travel and night-watching spent.—

To the guest-chamber lead him, some one! give

875

All entertainment which a traveller needs,

And such as fits a royal house to show:

To friends, still more, and labourers in our cause.

[ATTENDANTS conduct AEPYTUS within the palace.

THE CHORUS

The youth is gone within; alas! he bears

A presence sad for some one through those doors.

880

POLYPHONTES

Admire then, maidens, how in one short hour

The schemes, pursued in vain for twenty years,

Are by a stroke, though undesir’d, complete,

Crown’d with success, not in my way, but Heaven’s!

This at a moment, too, when I had urg’d

885

A last, long-cherish’d project, in my aim

Of concord, and been baffled with disdain.

Fair terms of reconcilement, equal rule,

I offer’d to my foes, and they refus’d:

Worse terms than mine they have obtain’d from Heaven.

890

Dire is this blow for Merope; and I

Wish’d, truly wish’d, solution to our broil

Other than by this death: but it hath come!

I speak no word of boast, but this I say,

A private loss here founds a nation’s peace.

[POLYPHONTES goes out.

895

THE CHORUS

Peace, who tarriest too long; strophe.

Peace, with Delight in thy train;

Come, come back to our prayer!

Then shall the revel again

Visit our streets, and the sound

900

Of the harp be heard with the pipe,

When the flashing torches appear

In the marriage-train coming on,

With dancing maidens and boys:

While the matrons come to the doors,

905

And the old men rise from their bench,

When the youths bring home the bride.

Not decried by my voice antistrophe

He who restores thee shall be,

Not unfavour’d by Heaven.

910

Surely no sinner the man,

Dread though his acts, to whose hand

Such a boon to bring hath been given.

Let her come, fair Peace! let her come!

But the demons long nourish’d here,

915

Murder, Discord, and Hate,

In the Stormy desolate waves

Of the Thracian Sea let her leave,

Or the howling outermost Main.

[MEROPE comes forth.

MEROPE

A whisper through the palace flies of one

920

Arriv’d from Tegea with weighty news;

And I came, thinking to find Areas here.

Ye have not left this gate, which he must pass:

Tell me—hath one not come? or, worse mischance,

Come, but been intercepted by the king?

925

THE CHORUS

A messenger, sent from Arcadia here,

Arriv’d, and of the king had speech but now.

MEROPE

Ah me! the wrong expectant got his news.

THE CHORUS

The message brought was for the king design’d.

MEROPE

How so? was Areas not the messenger?

930

THE CHORUS

A younger man, and of a different name.

MEROPE

And what Arcadian news had he to tell?

THE CHORUS

Learn that from other lips, O Queen, than mine.

MEROPE

He kept his tale, then, for the king alone?

THE CHORUS

His tale was meeter for that ear than thine.

935

MEROPE

Why dost thou falter, and make half reply?

THE CHORUS

O thrice unhappy, how I groan thy fate!

MEROPE

Thou frightenest and confound’st me by thy words.

O were but Areas come, all would be well!

THE CHORUS

If so, all’s well: for look, the old man speeds

940

Up from the city tow’rds this gated hill.

[ARCAS comes in.

MEROPE

Not with the failing breath and foot of age

My faithful follower comes. Welcome, old friend!

ARCAS

Faithful, not welcome, when my tale is told.

O that my over-speed and bursting grief

945

Had on the journey chok’d my labouring breath,

And lock’d my speech for ever in my breast!

Yet then another man would bring this news.—

O honour’d Queen, thy son, my charge, is gone.

THE CHORUS

Too suddenly thou tellest such a loss.

950

Look up, O Queen! look up, O mistress dear!

Look up, and see thy friends who comfort thee.

MEROPE

Ah … Ah … Ah me!

THE CHORUS

And I, too, say, ah me!

ARCAS

Forgive, forgive the bringer of such news!

MEROPE

Better from thine than from an enemy’s tongue.

955

THE CHORUS

And yet no enemy did this, O Queen:

But the wit-baffling will and hand of Heaven.

ARCAS

No enemy! and what hast thou, then, heard?

Swift as I came, hath Falsehood been before?

THE CHORUS

A youth arriv’d but now, the son, he said,

960

Of an Arcadian lord, our prince’s friend,

Jaded with travel, clad in hunter’s garb.

He brought report that his own eyes had seen

The prince, in chase after a swimming stage,

Swept down a chasm broken in the cliff

965

Which hangs o’er the Stymphalian Lake, and drown’d.

ARCAS

Ah me! with what a foot doth Treason post,

While Loyalty, with all her speed, is slow!

Another tale, I trow, thy messenger

For the King’s private ear reserves, like this

970

In one thing only, that the prince is dead.

THE CHORUS

And how then runs this true and private tale?

ARCAS

As much to the King’s wish, more to his shame.

This young Arcadian noble, guard and mate

To Aepytus, the king seduc’d with gold,

975

And had him at the prince’s side in leash,

Ready to slip on his unconscious prey.

He on a hunting party three days since,

Among the forests on Cyllene’s side,

Perform’d good service for his bloody wage;

980

The prince, his uncle Laias, whom his ward

Had in a father’s place, he basely murder’d.

Take this for true, the other tale for feign’d.

THE CHORUS

And this perfidious murder who reveal’d?

ARCAS

The faithless murderer’s own, no other tongue.

985

THE CHORUS

Did conscience goad him to denounce himself?

ARCAS

To Cypselus at Basilis he brought

This strange unlikely tale, the prince was drown’d.

THE CHORUS

But not a word appears of murder here.

ARCAS

Examin’d close, he own’d this story false.

990

Then evidence came—his comrades of the hunt,

Who saw the prince and Laias last with him,

Never again in life—next, agents, fee’d

To ply ’twixt the Messenian King and him,

Spoke, and reveal’d, that traffic, and the traitor.

995

So charg’d, he stood dumb-founder’d: Cypselus,

On this suspicion, cast him into chains.

Thence he escap’d—and next I find him here.

THE CHORUS

His presence with the King, thou mean’st, implies——

ARCAS

He comes to tell his prompter he hath sped.

1000

THE CHORUS

Still he repeats the drowning story here.

ARCAS

To thee—that needs no Oedipus to explain.

THE CHORUS

Interpret, then; for we, it seems, are dull.

ARCAS

Your King desir’d the profit of his death,

Not the black credit of his murderer.

1005

That stern word ‘murder’ had too dread a sound

For the Messenian hearts, who lov’d the prince.

THE CHORUS

Suspicion grave I see, but no clear proof.

MEROPE

Peace! peace! all’s clear.—The wicked watch and work

While the good sleep: the workers have the day.

1010

He who was sent hath sped, and now comes back,

To chuckle with his sender o’er the game

Which foolish innocence plays with subtle guilt.

Ah! now I comprehend the liberal grace

Of this far-scheming tyrant, and his boon

1015

Of heirship to his kingdom for my son:

He had his murderer ready, and the sword

Lifted, and that unwish’d-for heirship void—

A tale, meanwhile, forg’d for his subjects’ ears:

And me, henceforth sole rival with himself

1020

In their allegiance, me, in my son’s death-hour,

When all turn’d tow’rds me, me he would have shown

To my Messenians, dup’d, disarm’d, despis’d,

The willing sharer of his guilty rule,

All claim to succour forfeit, to myself

1025

Hateful, by each Messenian heart abhorr’d.—

His offers I repelled—but what of that?

If with no rage, no fire of righteous hate,

Such as ere now hath spurr’d to fearful deeds

Weak women with a thousandth part my wrongs,

1030

But calm, but unresentful, I endur’d

His offers, coldly heard them, cold repell’d?

While all this time I bear to linger on

In this blood-delug’d palace, in whose halls

Either a vengeful Furry I should stalk,

1035

Or else not live at all—but here I haunt,

A pale, unmeaning ghost, powerless to fright

Or harm, and nurse my longing for my son,

A helpless one, I know it:—but the Gods

Have temper’d me e’en thus; and, in some souls,

1040

Misery, which rouses others, breaks the spring.

And even now, my son, ah me! my son,

Fain would I fade away, as I have liv’d,

Without a cry, a struggle, or a blow,

All vengeance unattempted, and descend

1045

To the invisible plains, to roam with thee,

Fit denizen, the lampless under-world—

But with what eyes should I encounter there

My husband, wandering with his stern compeers,

Amphiaraos, or Mycenae’s king,

1050

Who led the Greeks to Ilium, Agamemnon,

Betray’d like him, but, not like him, aveng’d?

Or with what voice shall I the questions meet

Of my two elder sons, slain long ago,

Who sadly ask me, what, if not revenge,

1055

Kept me, their mother, from their side so long?

Or how reply to thee, my child, last-born,

Last-murder’d, who reproachfully wilt say—

Mother, I well believ’d thou lived’st on

In the detested palace of thy foe,

1060

With patience on thy face, death in thy heart,

Counting, till I grew up, the laggard years,

That our joint hands might then together pay

To one unhappy house the debt we owe.

My death makes my debt void, and doubles thine—

1065

But down thou fleest here, and leav’st our scourge

Triumphant, and condemnest all our race

To lie in gloom for ever unappeas’d.

What shall I have to answer to such words?—

No, something must be dar’d; and, great as erst

1070

Our dastard patience, be our daring now!

Come, ye swift Furies, who to him ye haunt

Permit no peace till your behests are done;

Come Hermes, who dost watch the unjustly kill’d,

And can’st teach simple ones to plot and feign;

1075

Come, lightning Passion, that with foot of fire

Advancest to the middle of a deed

Almost before ’tis plann’d; come, glowing hate;

Come, baneful Mischief, from thy murky Hate;

Under the dripping black Tartarean cliff

1080

Which Styx’s awful waters trickle down—

Inspire this coward heart, this flagging arm!

How say ye, maidens, do ye know these prayers?

Are these words Merope’s—is this voice mine?

Old man, old man, thou had’st my boy in charge,

1085

And he is lost, and thou hast that to atone.

Fly, find me on the instant where confer

The murderer and his impious setter-on:

And ye, keep faithful silence, friends, and mark

What one weak woman can achieve alone.

1090

ARCAS

O mistress, by the Gods, do nothing rash!

MEROPE

Unfaithful servant, dost thou, too, desert me?

ARCAS

I go! I go!—yet, Queen, take this one word:

Attempting deeds beyond thy power to do,

Thou nothing profitest thy friends, but mak’st

1095

Our misery more, and thine own ruin sure.

[ARCAS goes out.

THE CHORUS

I have heard, O Queen, how a prince, str. 1.

Agamemnon’s son, in Mycenae,

Orestes, died but in name,

Liv’d for the death of his foes.

1100

MEROPE

Peace!

THE CHORUS

What is it?

MEROPE

Alas,

Thou destroyest me!

THE CHORUS

How?

MEROPE

Whispering hope of a life

Which no strange unknown,

But the faithful servant and guard,

1105

Whose tears warrant his truth,

Bears sad witness is lost.

THE CHORUS

Wheresoe’er men are, there is grief. ant. 1.

In a thousand countries, a thousand

Homes, e’en now is there wail:

1110

Mothers lamenting their sons.

MEROPE

Yes——

THE CHORUS

Thou knowest it?

MEROPE

This

Who lives, witnesses.

THE CHORUS

True.

MEROPE

But, is it only a fate

Sure, all-common, to lose

1115

In a land of friends, by a friend.

One last, murder-sav’d child?

THE CHORUS

Ah me! str. 2.

MEROPE

Thou confessest the prize

In the rushing, thundering, mad,

1120

Cloud-envelop’d, obscure,

Unapplauded, unsung

Race of calamity, mine?

THE CHORUS

None can truly claim that

Mournful pre-eminence, not

1125

Thou.

MEROPE

Fate gives it, ah me!

THE CHORUS

Not, above all, in the doubts,

Double and clashing, that hang——

MEROPE

What then? ant. 2.

Seems it lighter, my loss,

1130

If, perhaps, unpierc’d by the sword,

My child lies in a jagg’d

Sunless prison of rocks,

On the black wave borne to and fro?

THE CHORUS

Worse, far worse, if his friend,

1135

If the Arcadian within,

If——

MEROPE (with a start)

How say’st thou? within?…

THE CHORUS

He in the guest-chamber now,

Faithlessly murder his friend.

MEROPE

Ye, too, ye, too, join to betray, then,

1140

Your Queen!

THE CHORUS

What is this?

MEROPE

Ye knew,

O false friends! into what

Haven the murderer had dropp’d?

Ye kept silence?

THE CHORUS

In fear,

O lov’d mistress! in fear,

1145

Dreading thine over-wrought mood,

What I knew, I conceal’d.

MEROPE

Swear by Gods henceforth to obey me!

THE CHORUS

Unhappy one, what deed

Purposes thy despair?

1150

I promise; but I fear.

MEROPE

From the altar, the unveng’d tomb,

Fetch me the sacrifice-axe!——

[The CHORUS goes towards the tomb of CRESPHONTES, and their leader brings back the axe.

O Husband, O cloth’d

With the grave’s everlasting,

1155

All-covering darkness! O King,

Well mourn’d, but ill-aveng’d!

Approv’st thou thy wife now?——

The axe!—who brings it?

THE CHORUS

’Tis here!

But thy gesture, thy look,

1160

Appals me, shakes me with awe.

MEROPE

Thrust back now the bolt of that door!

THE CHORUS

Alas! alas!—

Behold the fastenings withdrawn

Of the guest-chamber door!—

1165

Ah! I beseech thee—with tears——

MEROPE

Throw the door open!

THE CHORUS

’Tis done!…

[The door of the house is thrown open: the interior of the guest-chamber is discovered, with AEPYTUS asleep on a couch.

MEROPE

He sleeps—sleeps calm. O ye all-seeing Gods!

Thus peacefully do ye let sinners sleep,

While troubled innocents toss, and lie awake?

1170

What sweeter sleep than this could I desire

For thee, my child, if thou wert yet alive?

How often have I dream’d of thee like this,

With thy soil’d hunting-coat, and sandals torn,

Asleep in the Arcadian glens at noon,

1175

Thy head droop’d softly, and the golden curls

Clustering o’er thy white forehead, like a girl’s;

The short proud lip showing thy race, thy cheeks

Brown’d with thine open-air, free, hunter’s life.

Ah me!…

1180

And where dost thou sleep now, my innocent boy?—

In some dark fir-tree’s shadow, amid rocks

Untrodden, on Cyllene’s desolate side;

Where travellers never pass, where only come

Wild beasts, and vultures sailing overhead.

1185

There, there thou liest now, my hapless child!

Stretch’d among briers and stones, the slow, black gore

Oozing through thy soak’d hunting-shirt, with limbs

Yet stark from the death-struggle, tight-clench’d hands,

And eyeballs staring for revenge in vain.

1190

Ah miserable!…

And thou, thou fair-skinn’d Serpent! thou art laid

In a rich chamber, on a happy bed,

In a king’s house, thy victim’s heritage;

And drink’st untroubled slumber, to sleep of

1195

The toils of thy foul service, till thou wake

Refresh’d, and claim thy master’s thanks and gold.—

Wake up in hell from thine unhallow’d sleep,

Thou smiling Fiend, and claim thy guerdon there!

Wake amid gloom, and howling, and the noise

1200

Of sinners pinion’d on the torturing wheel,

And the stanch Furies’ never-silent scourge.

And bid the chief-tormentors there provide

For a grand culprit shortly coming down.

Go thou the first, and usher in thy lord!

1205

A more just stroke than thou gav’st my son,

Take——

MEROPE advances towards the sleeping AEPYTUS, with the axe uplifted. At the same moment ARCAS returns.

ARCAS (to the chorus)

Not with him to council did the King

Carry his messenger, but left him here.

[Sees MEROPE and AEPYTUS.

O Gods!…

MEROPE

Foolish old man, thou spoil my blow!

ARCAS

What do I see?…

MEROPE

A murderer at death’s door.

1210

Therefore no words!

ARCAS

A murderer?…

MEROPE

And captive

To the dear next-of-kin of him he murder’d.

Stand, and let vengeance pass!

ARCAS

Hold, O Queen, hold!

Thou know’st not whom thou strik’st….

MEROPE

I know his crime.

ARCAS

Unhappy one! thou strik’st——

MEROPE

A most just blow.

1215

ARCAS

No, by the Gods, thou slay’st——

MEROPE

Stand off!

ARCAS

Thy son!

MEROPE

Ah!… [She lets the axe drop, and falls insensible.

AEPYTUS (awaking)

Who are these? What shrill, ear-piercing scream

Wakes me thus kindly from the perilous sleep

Wherewith fatigue and youth had bound mine eyes,

1220

Even in the deadly palace of my foe?—

Arcas! Thou here?

ARCAS (embracing him)

O my dear master! O

My child, my charge belov’d, welcome to life!

As dead we held thee, mourn’d for thee as dead.

AEPYTUS

In word I died, that I in deed might live.

1225

But who are these?

ARCAS

Messenian maidens, friends.

AEPYTUS

And, Arcas!—but I tremble!

ARCAS

Boldly ask.

AEPYTUS

That black-rob’d, swooning figure?…

ARCAS

Merope.

AEPYTUS

O mother! mother!

MEROPE

Who upbraids me? Ah!…

[seeing the axe.

AEPYTUS

Upbraids thee? no one.

MEROPE

Thou dost well: but take …

1230

AEPYTUS

What wav’st thou off?

MEROPE

That murderous axe away!

AEPYTUS

Thy son is here.

MEROPE

One said so, sure, but now.

AEPYTUS

Here, here thou hast him!

MEROPE

Slaughter’d by this hand!…

AEPYTUS

No, by the Gods, alive and like to live!

MEROPE

What, thou?—I dream——

AEPYTUS

May’st thou dream ever so!

1235

MEROPE (advancing towards him)

My child? unhurt?…

AEPYTUS

Only by over joy.

MEROPE

Art thou, then, come?…

AEPYTUS

Never to part again.

[They fall into one another’s arms. Then MEROPE, holding AEPYTUS by the hand, turns to THE CHORUS.

MEROPE

O kind Messenian maidens, O my friends,

Bear witness, see, mark well, on what a head

My first stroke of revenge had nearly fallen!

1240

THE CHORUS

We see, dear mistress: and we say, the Gods,

As hitherto they kept him, keep him now.

MEROPE

O my son! strophe.

I have, I have thee.… the years

Fly back, my child! and thou seem’st

1245

Ne’er to have gone from these eyes,

Never been torn from this breast.

AEPYTUS

Mother, my heart runs over: but the time

Presses me, chides me, will not let me weep.

MEROPE

Fearest thou now?

1250

AEPYTUS

I fear not, but I think on my design.

MEROPE

At the undried fount of this breast,

A babe, thou smilest again.

Thy brothers play at my feet,

Early-slain innocents! near,

1255

Thy kind-speaking father stands.

AEPYTUS

Remember, to revenge his death I come!

MEROPE

Ah … revenge! antistrophe.

That word! it kills me! I see

Once more roll back on my house,

1260

Never to ebb, the accurs’d

All-flooding ocean of blood.

AEPYTUS

Mother, sometimes the justice of the Gods

Appoints the way to peace through shedding blood.

MEROPE

Sorrowful peace!

1265

AEPYTUS

And yet the only peace to us allow’d.

MEROPE

From the first-wrought vengeance is born

A long succession of crimes.

Fresh blood flows, calling for blood:

Fathers, sons, grandsons, are all

1270

One death-dealing vengeful train.

AEPYTUS

Mother, thy fears are idle: for I come

To close an old wound, not to open new.

In all else willing to be taught, in this

Instruct me not; I have my lesson clear.—

1275

Arcas, seek out my uncle Laias, now

Concerting in the city with our friends;

Here bring him, ere the king come back from council:

That, how to accomplish what the Gods enjoin,

And the slow-ripening time at last prepares,

1280

We two with thee, my mother, may consult:

For whose help dare I count on if not thine?

MEROPE

Approves my brother Laias this design?

AEPYTUS

Yes, and alone is with me here to share.

MEROPE

And what of thine Arcadian mate, who bears

1285

Suspicion from thy grandsire of thy death,

For whom, as I suppose, thou passest here?

AEPYTUS

Sworn to our plot he is: but, that surmise

Fix’d him the author of my death, I knew not.

MEROPE

Proof, not surmise, shows him in commerce close——

1290

AEPYTUS

With this Messenian tyrant—that I know.

MEROPE

And entertainst thou, child, such dangerous friends?

AEPYTUS

This commerce for my best behoof he plies.

MEROPE

That thou may’st read thine enemy’s counsel plain?

AEPYTUS

Too dear his secret wiles have cost our house.

1295

MEROPE

And of his unsure agent what demands he?

AEPYTUS

News of my business, pastime, temper, friends.

MEROPE

His messages, then, point not to thy murder?

AEPYTUS

Not yet; though such, no doubt, his final aim.

MEROPE

And what Arcadian helpers bring’st thou here?

1300

AEPYTUS

Laias alone; no errand mine for crowds.

MEROPE

On what relying, to crush such a foe?

AEPYTUS

One sudden stroke, and the Messenians’ love.

MEROPE

O thou long-lost, long seen in dreams alone,

But now seen face to face, my only child!

1305

Why wilt thou fly to lose as soon as found

My new-won treasure, thy beloved life?

Or how expectest not to lose, who com’st

With such slight means to cope with such a foe?

Thine enemy thou know’st not, nor his strength.

1310

The stroke thou purposest is desperate, rash—

Yet grant that it succeeds;—thou hast behind

The stricken king a second enemy

Scarce dangerous less than him, the Dorian lords.

These are not now the savage band who erst

1315

Follow’d thy father from their northern hills,

Mere ruthless and uncounsell’d tools of war,

Good to obey, without a leader naught.

Their chief hath train’d them, made them like himself,

Sagacious, men of iron, watchful, firm,

1320

Against surprise and sudden panic proof:

Their master fall’n, these will not flinch, but band

To keep their master’s power: thou wilt find

Behind his corpse their hedge of serried spears.

But, to match these, thou hast the people’s love?

1325

On what a reed, my child, thou leanest there!

Knowest thou not how timorous, how unsure,

How useless an ally a people is

Against the one and certain arm of power?

Thy father perish’d in this people’s cause,

1330

Perish’d before their eyes, yet no man stirr’d:

For years, his widow, in their sight I stand,

A never-changing index to revenge—

What help, what vengeance, at their hands have I?—

At least, if thou wilt trust them, try them first:

1335

Against the King himself array the host

Thou countest on to back thee ’gainst his lords:

First rally the Messenians to thy cause,

Give them cohesion, purpose, and resolve,

Marshal them to an army—then advance,

1340

Then try the issue; and not, rushing on

Single and friendless, throw to certain death

That dear-belov’d, that young, that gracious head.

Be guided, O my son! spurn counsel not:

For know thou this, a violent heart hath been

1345

Fatal to all the race of Hercules.

THE CHORUS

With sage experience she speaks; and thou,

O Aepytus, weigh well her counsel given.

AEPYTUS

Ill counsel, in my judgement, gives she here,

Maidens, and reads experience much amiss;

1350

Discrediting the succour which our cause

Might from the people draw, if rightly us’d:

Advising us a course which would, indeed,

If followed, make their succour slack and null.

A people is no army, train’d to fight,

1355

A passive engine, at their general’s will;

And, if so us’d, proves, as thou say’st, unsure.

A people, like a common man, is dull,

Is lifeless, while its heart remains untouch’d;

A fool can drive it, and a fly may scare:

1360

When it admires and loves, its heart awakes;

Then irresistibly it lives, it works:

A people, then, is an ally indeed;

It is ten thousand fiery wills in one.

Now I, if I invite them to run risk

1365

Of life for my advantage, and myself,

Who chiefly profit, run no more than they—

How shall I rouse their love, their ardour so?

But, if some signal, unassisted stroke,

Dealt at my own sole risk, before their eyes,

1370

Announces me their rightful prince return’d—

The undegenerate blood of Hercules—

The daring claimant of a perilous throne—

How might not such a sight as this revive

Their loyal passion tow’rd my father’s house?

1375

Electrify their hearts? make them no more

A craven mob, but a devouring fire?

Then might I use them, then, for one who thus

Spares not himself, themselves they will not spare.

Haply, had but one daring soul stood forth

1380

To rally them and lead them to revenge,

When my great father fell, they had replied:—

Alas! our foe alone stood forward then.

And thou, my mother, hadst thou made a sign—

Hadst thou, from thy forlorn and captive state

1385

Of widowhood in these polluted halls,

Thy prison-house, rais’d one imploring cry—

Who knows but that avengers thou hadst found?

But mute thou sat’st, and each Messenian heart

In thy despondency desponded too.

1390

Enough of this!—though not a finger stir

To succour me in my extremest need;

Though all free spirits in this land be dead,

And only slaves and tyrants left alive—

Yet for me, mother, I had liefer die

1395

On native ground, than drag the tedious hours

Of a protected exile any more.

Hate, duty, interest, passion call one way:

Here stand I now, and the attempt shall be.

THE CHORUS

Prudence is on the other side; but deeds

1400

Condemn’d by prudence have sometimes gone well.

MEROPE

Not till the ways of prudence all are tried,

And tried in vain, the turn of rashness comes.

Thou leapest to thy deed, and hast not ask’d

Thy kinsfolk and thy father’s friends for aid.

1405

AEPYTUS

And to what friends should I for aid apply?

MEROPE

The royal race of Temenus, in Argos——

AEPYTUS

That house, like ours, intestine murder maims.

MEROPE

Thy Spartan cousins, Procles and his brother——

AEPYTUS

Love a won cause, but not a cause to win.

1410

MEROPE

My father, then, and his Arcadian chiefs——

AEPYTUS

Mean still to keep aloof from Dorian broil.

MEROPE

Wait, then, until sufficient help appears.

AEPYTUS

Orestes in Mycenae had no more.

MEROPE

He to fulfil an order rais’d his hand.

1415

AEPYTUS

What order more precise had he than I?

MEROPE

Apollo peal’d it from his Delphian cave.

AEPYTUS

A mother’s murder needed hest divine.

MEROPE

He had a hest, at least, and thou hast none.

AEPYTUS

The Gods command not where the heart speaks clear.

1420

MEROPE

Thou wilt destroy, I see, thyself and us.

AEPYTUS

O suffering! O calamity! how ten,

How twentyfold worse are ye, when your blows

Not only wound the sense, but kill the soul,

The noble thought, which is alone the man!

1425

That I, to-day returning, find myself

Orphan’d of both my parents—by his foes

My father, by your strokes my mother slain!—

For this is not my mother, who dissuades,

At the dread altar of her husband’s tomb,

1430

His son from vengeance of his murderer;

And not alone dissuades him, but compares

His just revenge to an unnatural deed,

A deed so awful, that the general tongue

Fluent of horrors, falters to relate it—

1435

Of darkness so tremendous, that its author,

Though to his act empower’d, nay, impell’d,

By the oracular sentence of the Gods,

Fled, for years after, o’er the face of earth,

A frenzied wanderer, a God-driven man,

1440

And hardly yet, some say, hath found a grave—

With such a deed as this thou matchest mine,

Which Nature sanctions, which the innocent blood

Clamours to find fulfill’d, which good men praise,

And only bad men joy to see undone?

1445

O honour’d father! hide thee in thy grave

Deep as thou canst, for hence no succour comes;

Since from thy faithful subjects what revenge

Canst thou expect, when thus thy window fails?

Alas! an adamantine strength indeed,

1450

Past expectation, hath thy murderer built:

For this is the true strength of guilty kings,

When they corrupt the souls of those they rule.

THE CHORUS

Zeal makes him most unjust: but, in good time,

Here, as I guess, the noble Laias comes.

1455

LAIAS

Break off, break off your talking, and depart

Each to his post, where the occasion calls;

Lest from the council-chamber presently

The King return, and find you prating here.

A time will come for greetings; but to-day

1460

The hour for words is gone, is come for deeds.

AEPYTUS

O princely Laias! to what purpose calls

The occasion, if our chief confederate fails?

My mother stands aloof, and blames our deed.

LAIAS

My royal sister?… but, without some cause,

1465

I know, she honours not the dead so ill.

MEROPE

Brother, it seems thy sister must present,

At this first meeting after absence long,

Not welcome, exculpation to her kin:

Yet exculpation needs it, if I seek,

1470

A woman and a mother, to avert

Risk from my new-restor’d, my only son?—

Sometimes, when he was gone, I wish’d him back,

Risk what he might; now that I have him here,

Now that I feed mine eyes on that young face,

1475

Hear that fresh voice, and clasp that gold-lock’d head,

I shudder, Laias, to commit my child

To Murder’s dread arena, where I saw

His father and his ill starr’d brethren fall:

I loathe for him the slippery way of blood;

1480

I ask if bloodless means may gain his end.

In me the fever of revengeful hate,

Passion’s first furious longing to imbrue

Our own right hand in the detested blood

Of enemies, and count their dying groans—

1485

If in this feeble bosom such a fire

Did ever burn—is long by time allay’d,

And I would now have Justice strike, not me.

Besides—for from my brother and my son

I hide not even this—the reverence deep,

1490

Remorseful, tow’rd my hostile solitude,

By Polyphontes never fail’d-in once

Through twenty years; his mournful anxious zeal

To efface in me the memory of his crime—

Though it efface not that, yet makes me wish

1495

His death a public, not a personal act,

Treacherously plotted ’twixt my son and me;

To whom this day he came to proffer peace,

Treaty, and to this kingdom for my son

Heirship, with fair intent, as I believe:—

1500

For that he plots thy death, account it false;

[to AEPYTUS.

Number it with the thousand rumours vain,

Figments of plots, wherewith intriguers fill

The enforced leisure of an exile’s ear:—

Immers’d in serious state-craft is the King,

1505

Bent above all to pacify, to rule,

Rigidly, yet in settled calm, this realm;

Not prone, all say, to useless bloodshed now.—

So much is due to truth, even tow’rds our foe.

[to LAIAS.

Do I, then, give to usurpation grace,

1510

And from his natural rights my son debar?

Not so: let him—and none shall be more prompt

Than I to help—raise his Messenian friends;

Let him fetch succours from Arcadia, gain

His Argive or his Spartan cousins’ aid;

1515

Let him do this, do aught but recommence

Murder’s uncertain, secret, perilous game—

And I, when to his righteous standard down

Flies Victory wing’d, and Justice raises then

Her sword, will be the first to bid it fall.

1520

If, haply, at this moment, such attempt

Promise not fair, let him a little while

Have faith, and trust the future and the Gods.

He may—for never did the Gods allow

Fast permanence to an ill-gotten throne.—

1525

These are but woman’s words;—yet, Laias, thou

Despise them not! for, brother, thou, like me,

Wert not among the feuds of warrior-chiefs,

Each sovereign for his dear-bought hour, born;

But in the pastoral Arcadia rear’d,

1530

With Cypselus our father, where we saw

The simple patriarchal state of kings,

Where sire to son transmits the unquestion’d crown,

Unhack’d, unsmirch’d, unbloodied, and hast learnt

That spotless hands unshaken sceptres hold.

1535

Having learnt this, then, use thy knowledge now.

THE CHORUS

Which way to lean I know not: bloody strokes

Are never free from doubt, though sometimes due.

LAIAS

O Merope, the common heart of man

Agrees to deem some deeds so horrible,

1540

That neither gratitude, nor tie of race,

Womanly pity, nor maternal fear,

Nor any pleader else, shall be indulg’d

To breathe a syllable to bar revenge.

All this, no doubt, thou to thyself hast urg’d—

1545

Time presses, so that theme forbear I now:

Direct to thy dissuasions I reply.

Blood-founded thrones, thou say’st, are insecure;

Our father’s kingdom, because pure, is safe.

True; but what cause to our Arcadia gives

1550

Its privileg’d immunity from blood,

But that, since first the black and fruitful Earth

In the primeval mountain-forests bore

Pelasgus, our forefather and mankind’s,

Legitimately sire to son, with us,

1555

Bequeaths the allegiance of our shepherd-tribes,

More loyal, as our line continues more?—

How can your Heracleidan chiefs inspire

This awe which guards our earth-sprung, lineal kings?

What permanence, what stability like ours,

1560

Whether blood flows or no, can yet invest

The broken order of your Dorian thrones,

Fix’d yesterday, and ten their chang’d since then?—

Two brothers, and their orphan nephews, strove

For the three conquer’d kingdoms of this isle:

1565

The eldest, mightiest brother, Temenus, took

Argos: a juggle to Cresphontes gave

Messenia: to those helpless Boys, the lot

Worst of the three, the stony Sparta, fell.

August, indeed, was the foundation here!

1570

What followed?—His most trusted kinsman slew

Cresphontes in Messenia; Temenus

Perish’d in Argos by his jealous sons;

The Spartan Brothers with their guardian strive:—

Can houses thus ill-seated—thus embroil’d—

1575

Thus little founded in their subjects’ love,

Practise the indulgent, bloodless policy

Of dynasties long-fix’d, and honour’d long?

No! Vigour and severity must chain

Popular reverence to these recent lines;

1580

If their first-founded order be maintain’d—

Their murder’d rulers terribly aveng’d—

Ruthlessly their rebellious subjects crush’d.—

Since policy bids thus, what fouler death

Than thine illustrious husband’s to avenge

1585

Shall we select?—than Polyphontes, what

More daring and more grand offender find?

Justice, my sister, long demands this blow,

And Wisdom, now thou see’st, demands it too:

To strike it, then, dissuade thy son no more;

1590

For to live disobedient to these two,

Justice and Wisdom, is no life at all.

THE CHORUS

The Gods, O mistress dear! the hard-soul’d man,

Who spar’d not others, bid not us to spare.

MEROPE

Alas! against my brother, son, and friends,

1595

One, and a woman, how can I prevail?—

O brother! thou hast conquer’d; yet, I fear.…

Son! with a doubting heart thy mother yields …

May it turn happier than my doubts portend!

LAIAS

Meantime on thee the task of silence only

1600

Shall be impos’d; to us shall be the deed.

Now, not another word, but to our act!

Nephew! thy friends are sounded, and prove true:

Thy father’s murderer, in the public place,

Performs, this noon, a solemn sacrifice:

1605

Go with him—choose the moment—strike thy blow!

If prudence counsels thee to go unarm’d,

The sacrificer’s axe will serve thy turn.

To me and the Messenians leave the rest,

With the Gods’ aid—and, if they give but aid

1610

As our just cause deserves, I do not fear.

[AEPYTUS, LAIAS, and ARCAS go out.

THE CHORUS

O Son and Mother, str. 1.

Whom the Gods o’ershadow,

In dangerous trial,

With certainty of favour!

1615

As erst they shadow’d

Your race’s founders

From irretrievable woe:

When the seed of Lycaon

Lay forlorn, lay outcast,

1620

Callisto and her Boy.

What deep-grass’d meadow ant. 1.

At the meeting valleys—

Where clear-flowing Ladon,

Most beautiful of waters,

1625

Receives the river

Whose trout are vocal,

The Aroanian stream—

Without home, without mother,

Hid the babe, hid Arcas,

1630

The nursling of the dells?

But the sweet-smelling myrtle, str. 2.

And the pink-flower’d oleander,

And the green agnus-castus,

To the West-Wind’s murmur,

1635

Rustled round his cradle;

And Maia rear’d him.

Then, a boy, he startled

In the snow-fill’d hollows

Of high Cyllene

1640

The white mountain-birds;

Or surpris’d, in the glens,

The basking tortoises,

Whose strip’d shell founded

In the hand of Hermes

1645

The glory of the lyre.

But his mother, Callisto, ant. 2.

In her hiding-place of the thickets

Of the lentisk and ilex,

In her rough form, fearing

1650

The hunter on the outlook,

Poor changeling! trembled.

Or the children, plucking

In the thorn-chok’d gullies

Wild gooseberries, scar’d her,

1655

The shy mountain-bear.

Or the shepherds, on slopes

With pale-spik’d lavender

And crisp thyme tufted,

Came upon her, stealing

1660

At day-break through the dew.

Once, ’mid the gorges, str. 2.

Spray-drizzled, lonely,

Unclimb’d by man—

O’er whose cliffs the townsmen

1665

Of crag-perch’d Nonacris

Behold in summer

The slender torrent

Of Styx come dancing,

A wind-blown thread—

1670

By the precipices of Khelmos,

The fleet, desperate hunter,

The youthful Arcas, born of Zeus,

His fleeing mother,

Transform’d Callisto,

1675

Unwitting follow’d—

And rais’d his spear.

Turning, with piteous ant. 3.

Distressful longing,

Sad, eager eyes,

1680

Mutely she regarded

Her well-known enemy.

Low moans half utter’d

What speech refus’d her;

Tears cours’d, tears human,

1685

Down those disfigur’d

Once human cheeks.

With unutterable foreboding

Her son, heart-stricken, ey’d her.

The Gods had pity, made them Stars.

1690

Stars now they sparkle

In the northern Heaven;

The guard Arcturus,

The guard-watch’d Bear.

So, o’er thee and thy child, epode.

1695

Some God, Merope, now,

In dangerous hour, stretches his hand.

So, like a star, dawns thy son,

Radiant with fortune and joy.

[POLYPHONTES comes in.

POLYPHONTES

O Merope, the trouble on thy face

1700

Tells me enough thou know’st the news which all

Messenia speaks: the prince, thy son, is dead.

Not from my lips should consolation fall:

To offer that, I came not; but to urge,

Even after news of this sad death, our league.

1705

Yes, once again I come; I will not take

This morning’s angry answer for thy last:

To the Messenian kingdom thou and I

Are the sole claimants left; what cause of strife

Lay in thy son is buried in his grave.

1710

Most honourably I meant, I call the Gods

To witness, offering him return and power:

Yet, had he liv’d, suspicion, jealousy,

Inevitably had surg’d up, perhaps,

’Twixt thee and me; suspicion, that I nurs’d

1715

Some ill design against him; jealousy,

That he enjoy’d but part, being heir to all.

And he himself, with the impetuous heart

Of youth, ’tis like, had never quite forgone

The thought of vengeance on me, never quite

1720

Unclos’d his itching fingers from his sword.

But thou, O Merope, though deeply wrong’d,

Though injur’d past forgiveness, as men deem,

Yet hast been long at school with thoughtful Time,

And from that teacher may’st have learn’d, like me,

1725

That all may be endur’d, and all forgiv’n;

Have learn’d that we must sacrifice the thirst

Of personal vengeance to the public weal;

Have learn’d, that there are guilty deeds, which leave

The hand that does them guiltless; in a word,

1730

That kings live for their peoples, not themselves.

This having learn’d, let us a union found

(For the last time I ask, ask earnestly)

Bas’d on pure public welfare; let us be—

Not Merope and Polyphontes, foes

1735

Blood-sever’d—but Messenia’s King and Queen:

Let us forget ourselves for those we rule.

Speak: I go hence to offer sacrifice

To the Preserver Zeus; let me return

Thanks to him for our amity as well.

1740

MEROPE

Oh had’st thou, Polyphontes, still but kept

The silence thou hast kept for twenty years!

POLYPHONTES

Henceforth, if what I urge displease, I may:

But fair proposal merits fair reply.

MEROPE

And thou shalt have it! Yes, because thou hast

1745

For twenty years forborne to interrupt

The solitude of her whom thou hast wrong’d—

That scanty grace shall earn thee this reply.—

First, for our union. Trust me, ’twixt us two

The brazen-footed Fury ever stalks,

1750

Waving her hundred hands, a torch in each,

Aglow with angry fire, to keep us twain.

Now, for thyself. Thou com’st with well-cloak’d joy,

To announce the ruin of my husband’s house,

To sound thy triumph in his widow’s ears,

1755

To bid her share thine unendanger’d throne:—

To this thou would’st have answer.—Take it: Fly!

Cut short thy triumph, seeming at its height;

Fling off thy crown, suppos’d at last secure;

Forsake this ample, proud Messenian realm:

1760

To some small, humble, and unnoted strand,

Some rock more lonely than that Lemnian isle

Where Philoctetes pin’d, take ship and flee:

Some solitude more inaccessible

Than the ice-bastion’d Caucasean Mount,

1765

Chosen a prison for Prometheus, climb:

There in unvoic’d oblivion hide thy name,

And bid the sun, thine only visitant,

Divulge not to the far-off world of men

What once-fam’d wretch he hath seen lurking there.

1770

There nurse a late remorse, and thank the Gods,

And thank thy bitterest foe, that, having lost

All things but life, thou lose not life as well.

POLYPHONTES

What mad bewilderment of grief is this?

MEROPE

Thou art bewilder’d: the sane head is mine.

1775

POLYPHONTES

I pity thee, and wish thee calmer mind.

MEROPE

Pity thyself; none needs compassion more.

POLYPHONTES

Yet, oh! could’st thou but act as reason bids!

MEROPE

And in my turn I wish the same for thee.

POLYPHONTES

All I could do to soothe thee has been tried.

1780

MEROPE

For that, in this my warning, thou art paid.

POLYPHONTES

Know’st thou then aught, that thus thou sound’st the alarm?

MEROPE

Thy crime: that were enough to make one fear.

POLYPHONTES

My deed is of old date, and long aton’d.

MEROPE

Aton’d this very day, perhaps, it is.

1785

POLYPHONTES

My final victory proves the Gods appeas’d.

MEROPE

O victor, victor, trip not at the goal!

POLYPHONTES

Hatred and passionate Envy blind thine eyes.

MEROPE

O Heaven-abandon’d wretch, that envies thee!

POLYPHONTES

Thou hold’st so cheap, then, the Messenian crown?

1790

MEROPE

I think on what the future hath in store.

POLYPHONTES

To-day I reign: the rest I leave to Fate.

MEROPE

For Fate thou wait’st not long; since, in this hour——

POLYPHONTES

What? for so far she hath not prov’d my foe—

MEROPE

Fate seals my lips, and drags to ruin thee.

1795

POLYPHONTES

Enough! enough! I will no longer hear

The ill-boding note which frantic Envy sounds

To affright a fortune which the Gods secure.

Once more my friendship thou rejectest: well!

More for this land’s sake grieve I, than mine own.

1800

I chafe not with thee, that thy hate endures,

Nor bend myself too low, to make it yield.

What I have done is done; by my own deed,

Neither exulting nor asham’d, I stand.

Why should this heart of mine set mighty store

1805

By the construction and report of men?

Not men’s good-word hath made me what I am.

Alone I master’d power; and alone,

Since so thou wilt, I will maintain it still.

[POLYPHONTES goes out.

THE CHORUS

Did I then waver str. 1.

1810

(O woman’s judgement!)

Misled by seeming

Success of crime?

And ask, if sometimes

The Gods, perhaps, allow’d you,

1815

O lawless daring of the strong,

O self-will recklessly indulg’d?

Not time, not lightning, ant. 1.

Not rain, not thunder,

Efface the endless

1820

Decrees of Heaven—

Make Justice alter,

Revoke, assuage her sentence,

Which dooms dread ends to dreadful deeds,

And violent deaths to violent men.

1825

But the signal example str. 2.

Of invariableness of justice

Our glorious founder

Hercules gave us,

Son lov’d of Zeus his father: for he err’d,

1830

And the strand of Euboea, ant. 2.

And the promontory of Cenaeum,

His painful, solemn

Punishment witness’d,

Beheld his expiation: for he died.

1835

O villages of Oeta str. 3.

With hedges of the wild rose!

O pastures of the mountain,

Of short grass, beaded with dew,

Between the pine-woods and the cliffs!

1840

O cliffs, left by the eagles,

On that morn, when the smoke-cloud

From the oak-built, fiercely-burning pyre,

Up the precipices of Trachis,

Drove them screaming from their eyries!

1845

A willing, a willing sacrifice on that day

Ye witness’d, ye mountain lawns,

When the shirt-wrapt, poison-blister’d Hero

Ascended, with undaunted heart,

Living, his own funeral-pile,

1850

And stood, shouting for a fiery torch;

And the kind, chance-arriv’d Wanderer, 1

The inheritor of the bow,

Coming swiftly through the sad Trachinians,

Put the torch to the pile:

1855

That the flame tower’d on high to the Heaven

Bearing with it, to Olympus,

To the side of Hebe,

To immortal delight,

The labour-releas’d Hero.

1860

O heritage of Neleus, ant. 3.

Ill-kept by his infirm heirs!

O kingdom of Messenê,

Of rich soil, chosen by craft,

Possess’d in hatred, lost in blood!

1865

O town, high Stenyclaros,

With new walls, which the victors

From the four-town’d, mountain-shadow’d Doris,

For their Hercules-issu’d princes

Built in strength against the vanquish’d!

1870

Another, another sacrifice on this day

Ye witness, ye new-built towers!

When the white-rob’d, garland-crowned Monarch

Approaches, with undoubting heart,

Living, his own sacrifice-block,

1875

And stands, shouting for a slaughterous axe;

And the stern, Destiny-brought Stranger,

The inheritor of the realm,

Coming swiftly through the jocund Dorians,

Drives the axe to its goal:

1880

That the blood rushes in streams to the dust;

Bearing with it, to Erinnys,

To the Gods of Hades,

To the dead unaveng’d,

The fiercely-requir’d Victim.

1885

Knowing he did it, unknowing pays for it. [epode.

Unknowing, unknowing,

Thinking aton’d-for

Deeds unatonable,

Thinking appeas’d

1890

Gods unappeasable,

Lo, the Ill-fated One,

Standing for harbour,

Right at the harbour-mouth,

Strikes, with all sail set,

1895

Full on the sharp-pointed

Needle of ruin!

[A MESSENGER comes in.

MESSENGER

O honour’d Queen, O faithful followers

Of your dead master’s line, I bring you news

To make the gates of this long-mournful house

1900

Leap, and fly open of themselves for joy!

[noise and shouting heard.

Hark how the shouting crowds tramp hitherward

With glad acclaim! Ere they forestall my news,

Accept it:—Polyphontes is no more.

MEROPE

Is my son safe? that question bounds my care.

1905

MESSENGER

He is, and by the people hail’d for king.

MEROPE

The rest to me is little: yet, since that

Must from some mouth be heard, relate it thou.

MESSENGER

Not little, if thou saw’st what love, what zeal,

At thy dead husband’s name the people show.

1910

For when this morning in the public square

I took my stand, and saw the unarm’d crowds

Of citizens in holiday attire,

Women and children intermix’d; and then,

Group’d around Zeus’s altar, all in arms,

1915

Serried and grim, the ring of Dorian lords—

I trembled for our prince and his attempt.

Silence and expectation held us all:

Till presently the King came forth, in robe

Of sacrifice, his guards clearing the way

1920

Before him—at his side, the prince, thy son,

Unarm’d and travel-soil’d, just as he was:

With him conferring the King slowly reach’d

The altar in the middle of the square,

Where, by the sacrificing minister,

1925

The flower-dress’d victim stood, a milk-white bull,

Swaying from side to side his massy head

With short impatient lowings: there he stopp’d,

And seem’d to muse awhile, then rais’d his eyes

To Heaven, and laid his hand upon the steer,

1930

And cried—O Zeus, let what blood-guiltiness

Yet stains our land be by this blood wash’d out,

And grant henceforth to the Messenians peace!

That moment, while with upturn’d eyes he pray’d,

The prince snatch’d from the sacrificer’s hand

1935

The axe, and on the forehead of the King,

Where twines the chaplet, dealt a mighty blow

Which fell’d him to the earth, and o’er him stood,

And shouted—Since by thee defilement came,

What blood so meet as thine to wash it out?

1940

What hand to strike thee meet as mine, the hand

Of Aepytus, thy murder’d master’s son?—

But, gazing at him from the ground, the King …

Is it, then, thou? he murmur’d; and with that,

He bow’d his head, and deeply groan’d, and died.

1945

Till then we all seem’d stone: but then a cry

Broke from the Dorian lords: forward they rush’d

To circle the prince round: when suddenly

Laias in arms sprang to his nephew’s side,

Crying—O ye Messenians, will ye leave

1950

The son to perish as ye left the sire?

And from that moment I saw nothing clear:

For from all sides a deluge, as it seem’d,

Burst o’er the altar and the Dorian lords,

Of holiday-clad citizens transform’d

1955

To armèd warriors: I heard vengeful cries;

I heard the clash of weapons; then I saw

The Dorians lying dead, thy son hail’d king.

And, truly, one who sees, what seem’d so strong,

The power of this tyrant and his lords,

1960

Melt like a passing smoke, a nightly dream,

At one bold word, one enterprising blow—

Might ask, why we endur’d their yoke so long:

But that we know how every perilous feat

Of daring, easy as it seems when done,

1965

Is easy at no moment but the right.

THE CHORUS

Thou speakest well; but here, to give our eyes

Authentic proof of what thou tell’st our ears,

The conquerors, with the King’s dead body, come.

[AEPYTUS, LAIAS, and ARCAS come in with the dead body of POLYPHONTES, followed by a crowd of the MESSENIANS.]

LAIAS

Sister, from this day forth thou art no more

1970

The widow of a husband unaveng’d,

The anxious mother of an exil’d son.

Thine enemy is slain, thy son is king!

Rejoice with us! and trust me, he who wish’d

Welfare to the Messenian state, and calm,

1975

Could find no way to found them sure as this.

AEPYTUS

Mother, all these approve me: but if thou

Approve not too, I have but half my joy.

MEROPE

O Aepytus, my son, behold, behold

This iron man, my enemy and thine,

1980

This politic sovereign, lying at our feet,

With blood-bespatter’d robes, and chaplet shorn!

Inscrutable as ever, see, it keeps

Its sombre aspect of majestic care,

Of solitary thought, unshar’d resolve,

1985

Even in death, that countenance austere.

So look’d he, when to Stenyclaros first,

A new-made wife, I from Arcadia came,

And found him at my husband’s side, his friend,

His kinsman, his right hand in peace and war;

1990

Unsparing in his service of his toil,

His blood; to me, for I confess it, kind:

So look’d he in that dreadful day of death:

So, when he pleaded for our league but now.

What meantest thou, O Polyphontes, what

1995

Desired’st thou, what truly spurr’d thee on?

Was policy of state, the ascendancy

Of the Heracleidan conquerors, as thou said’st,

Indeed thy lifelong passion and sole aim?

Or did’st thou but, as cautions schemers use,

2000

Cloak thine ambition with these specious words?

I know not; just, in either case, the stroke

Which laid thee low, for blood requires blood:

But yet, not knowing this, I triumph not

Over thy corpse, triumph not, neither mourn;

2005

For I find worth in thee, and badness too.

What mood of spirit, therefore, shall we call

The true one of a man—what way of life

His fix’d condition and perpetual walk?

None, since a twofold colour reigns in all.

2010

But thou, my son, study to make prevail

One colour in thy life, the hue of truth:

That Justice, that sage Order, not alone

Natural Vengeance, may maintain thine act,

And make it stand indeed the will of Heaven.

2015

Thy father’s passion was this people’s ease,

This people’s anarchy, thy foe’s pretence;

As the chiefs rule, indeed, the people are:

Unhappy people, where the chiefs themselves

Are, like the mob, vicious and ignorant!

2020

So rule, that even thine enemies may fail

To find in thee a fault whereon to found,

Of tyrannous harshness, or remissness weak:

So rule, that as thy father thou be lov’d;

So rule, that as thy foe thou be obey’d.

2025

Take these, my son, over thine enemy’s corpse

Thy mother’s prayers: and this prayer last of all,

That even in thy victory thou show,

Mortal, the moderation of a man.

AEPYTUS

O mother, my best diligence shall be

2030

In all by thy experience to be rul’d

Where my own youth falls short. But, Laias, now,

First work after such victory, let us go

To render to my true Messenians thanks,

To the Gods grateful sacrifice; and then,

2035

Assume the ensigns of my father’s power.

THE CHORUS

Son of Cresphontes, past what perils

Com’st thou, guided safe, to thy home!

What things daring! what enduring!

And all this by the will of the Gods.

2040

Note 1. the kind, chance-arriv’d Wanderer: Poias, father of Philoctetes. [back]

CONTENTS · BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

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