Delphi Complete Poetical Works of Matthew Arnold

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by Matthew Arnold


  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,

 

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