Poetical Works of Matthew Arnold Part 64

My final victory proves the G.o.ds appeased.

_Merope_

O victor, victor, trip not at the goal!

_Polyphontes_

Hatred and pa.s.sionate envy blind thine eyes.

_Merope_

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

_Polyphontes_

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

_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 Fate hath not proved my foe--

_Merope_

Fate seals my lips, and drags to ruin thee.

_Polyphontes_

Enough! enough! I will no longer hear The ill-boding note which frantic hatred sounds To affright a fortune which the G.o.ds secure.

Once more my friends.h.i.+p thou rejectest; well!

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

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 ashamed, I stand.

Why should this heart of mine set mighty store 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 dare maintain it still.

[POLYPHONTES _goes out_.

_The Chorus_

Did I then waver _str._ 1.

(O woman's judgment!) Misled by seeming Success of crime?

And ask, if sometimes The G.o.ds, perhaps, allow'd you, O lawless daring of the strong, O self-will recklessly indulged?

Not time, not lightning, _ant._ 1.

Not rain, not thunder, Efface the endless Decrees of Heaven-- Make Justice alter, Revoke, a.s.suage her sentence, Which dooms dread ends to dreadful deeds, And violent deaths to violent men.

But the signal example _str._ 2.

Of invariableness of justice Our glorious founder Heracles gave us, Son loved of Zeus his father--for he sinn'd,

And the strand of Euboea, _ant._ 2.

And the promontory of Cenaeum, His painful, solemn Punishment witness'd, Beheld his expiation--for he died.

O villages of OEta _str._ 3.

With hedges of the wild rose!

O pastures of the mountain, Of short gra.s.s, beaded with dew, Between the pine-woods and the cliffs!

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!

A willing, a willing sacrifice on that day Ye witness'd, ye mountain lawns, When the s.h.i.+rt-wrapt, poison-blister'd Hero Ascended, with undaunted heart, Living, his own funeral-pile, And stood, shouting for a fiery torch; And the kind, chance-arrived Wanderer,[30]

The inheritor of the bow, Coming swiftly through the sad Trachinians, Put the torch to the pile.

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-released Hero.

O heritage of Neleus, _ant._ 3.

Ill-kept by his infirm heirs!

O kingdom of Messene, Of rich soil, chosen by craft, Possess'd in hatred, lost in blood!

O town, high Stenyclaros, With new walls, which the victors From the four-town'd, mountain-shadow'd Doris, For their Heracles-issued princes Built in strength against the vanquish'd!

Another, another sacrifice on this day Ye witness, ye new-built towers!

When the white-robed, garland-crowned Monarch Approaches, with undoubting heart, Living, his own sacrifice-block, 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.

That the blood rushes in streams to the dust; Bearing with it, to Erinnys, To the G.o.ds of Hades, To the dead unavenged, The fiercely-required Victim.

Knowing he did it, unknowing pays for it. [_epode._ Unknowing, unknowing, Thinking atoned-for Deeds unatonable, Thinking appeased G.o.ds unappeasable, Lo, the ill-fated one, Standing for harbour Right at the harbour-mouth Strikes with all sail set 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 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.

_Messenger_

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