Delphi Complete Poetical Works of Matthew Arnold
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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.
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,