Poetical Works of Matthew Arnold Part 51

But the third, what delays him From his unattain'd crown?...

Ah Pylades and Electra, Ever faithful, untired, Jealous, blood-exacting friends!

Your sons leap upon the foe of your kin, In the pa.s.ses of Delphi, In the temple-built gorge!

There the youngest of the band of conquerors Perish'd, in sight of the goal.

Thrice son follow'd sire The all-wept way.

_The Chorus_

Thou tellest the fate of the last _str._ 4.

Of the three Heracleidae.

Not of him, of Cresphontes thou shared'st the lot!

A king, a king was he while he lived, Swaying the sceptre with predestined hand; And now, minister loved, Holds rule.

_Merope_

Ah me ... Ah....

_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!

Then had his sepulchre risen On the high sea-bank, in the sight Of either Gulf, and remain'd All-regarded afar, n.o.ble memorial of worth 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, 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.

Wail'd from the palace within, From the Children.... The Fury to them, Fresh from their father, draws near.

Ah b.l.o.o.d.y axe! dizzy blows!

In these ears, they thunder, they ring, 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.

Sorrow, O Queen, of mankind.

Had not Electra to haunt A palace defiled by a death unavenged, For years, in silence, devouring her heart?

But her nursling, her hope, came at last.

Thou, too, rearest in hope, Far 'mid Arcadian hills, Somewhere, for vengeance, a champion, a light.

Soon, soon shall Zeus bring him home!

Soon shall he dawn on this land!

_Merope_

Him in secret, in tears, _str._ 7.

Month after month, I await Vainly. For he, in the glens Of Lycaeus afar, A gladsome hunter of deer, Basks in his morning of youth, Spares not a thought to his home.

_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 numb'reth the hours Till the sinner, the vengeance, be ripe.

Still, by Acheron stream, Terrible Deities throned Sit, and eye grimly the victim unscourged.

Still, still the Dorian boy, Exiled, remembers his home.

_Merope_

Him if high-ruling Zeus _ant._ 7.

Bring to me safe, let the rest Go as it will! But if this Clash with justice, the G.o.ds Forgive my folly, and work Vengeance on sinner and sin-- Only to me give my child!

_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, G.o.ds of the dead! _ant._ 8.

_Merope_

An avenger I ask not--send me my son! _ant._ 9.

_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.

Impious I deem the alliance which he asks, Requite him words severe for seeming kind, And righteous, if he falls, I count his fall.