Poetical Works of Matthew Arnold Part 61

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, 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.

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, Then try the issue; and not, rus.h.i.+ng on Single and friendless, give to certain death That dear-beloved, that young, that gracious head.

Be guided, O my son! spurn counsel not!

For know thou this, a violent heart hath been Fatal to all the race of Heracles.

_The Chorus_

With sage experience she speaks; and thou, O aepytus, weigh well her counsel given.

_aepytus_

Ill counsel, in my judgment, gives she here, Maidens, and reads experience much amiss; Discrediting the succour which our cause Might from the people draw, if rightly used; Advising us a course which would, indeed, If follow'd, make their succour slack and null.

A people is no army, train'd to fight, A pa.s.sive engine, at their general's will; And, if so used, 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.

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 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, una.s.sisted stroke, Dealt at my own sole risk, before their eyes, Announces me their rightful prince return'd-- The undegenerate blood of Heracles-- The daring claimant of a perilous throne-- How might not such a sight as this revive Their loyal pa.s.sion tow'rd my father's house, Kindle their hearts, make them no more a mob, 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 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 Of widowhood in these polluted halls, Thy prison-house, raised 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.

Enough of this!--Though not a finger stir To succour me in my extremest need; Though all free spirits in this land were dead, And only slaves and tyrants left alive; Yet for me, mother, I had liefer die On native ground, than drag the tedious hours Of a protected exile any more.

Hate, duty, interest, pa.s.sion call one way; Here stand I now, and the attempt shall be.

_The Chorus_

Prudence is on the other side; but deeds 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.

_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.

_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 raised his hand.

_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 G.o.ds command not where the heart speaks clear.

_Merope_

Thou wilt destroy, I see, thyself and us.