Delphi Complete Poetical Works of Matthew Arnold
Page 33
Dire is this blow for Merope; and I
Wish’d, truly wish’d, solution to our broil
Other than by this death: but it hath come!
I speak no word of boast, but this I say,
A private loss here founds a nation’s peace.
POLYPHONTES goes out. 895
THE CHORUS
Peace, who tarriest too long; strophe.
Peace, with Delight in thy train;
Come, come back to our prayer!
Then shall the revel again
Visit our streets, and the sound 900
Of the harp be heard with the pipe,
When the flashing torches appear
In the marriage-train coming on,
With dancing maidens and boys:
While the matrons come to the doors, 905
And the old men rise from their bench,
When the youths bring home the bride.
Not decried by my voice antistrophe
He who restores thee shall be,
Not unfavour’d by Heaven. 910
Surely no sinner the man,
Dread though his acts, to whose hand
Such a boon to bring hath been given.
Let her come, fair Peace! let her come!
But the demons long nourish’d here, 915
Murder, Discord, and Hate,
In the Stormy desolate waves
Of the Thracian Sea let her leave,
Or the howling outermost Main.
MEROPE comes forth.
MEROPE
A whisper through the palace flies of one 920
Arriv’d from Tegea with weighty news;
And I came, thinking to find Areas here.
Ye have not left this gate, which he must pass:
Tell me — hath one not come? or, worse mischance,
Come, but been intercepted by the king? 925
THE CHORUS
A messenger, sent from Arcadia here,
Arriv’d, and of the king had speech but now.
MEROPE
Ah me! the wrong expectant got his news.
THE CHORUS
The message brought was for the king design’d.
MEROPE
How so? was Areas not the messenger? 930
THE CHORUS
A younger man, and of a different name.
MEROPE
And what Arcadian news had he to tell?
THE CHORUS
Learn that from other lips, O Queen, than mine.
MEROPE
He kept his tale, then, for the king alone?
THE CHORUS
His tale was meeter for that ear than thine. 935
MEROPE
Why dost thou falter, and make half reply?
THE CHORUS
O thrice unhappy, how I groan thy fate!
MEROPE
Thou frightenest and confound’st me by thy words.
O were but Areas come, all would be well!
THE CHORUS
If so, all’s well: for look, the old man speeds 940
Up from the city tow’rds this gated hill.
ARCAS comes in.
MEROPE
Not with the failing breath and foot of age
My faithful follower comes. Welcome, old friend!
ARCAS
Faithful, not welcome, when my tale is told.
O that my over-speed and bursting grief 945
Had on the journey chok’d my labouring breath,
And lock’d my speech for ever in my breast!
Yet then another man would bring this news. —
O honour’d Queen, thy son, my charge, is gone.
THE CHORUS
Too suddenly thou tellest such a loss. 950
Look up, O Queen! look up, O mistress dear!
Look up, and see thy friends who comfort thee.
MEROPE
Ah … Ah … Ah me!
THE CHORUS
And I, too, say, ah me!
ARCAS
Forgive, forgive the bringer of such news!
MEROPE
Better from thine than from an enemy’s tongue. 955
THE CHORUS
And yet no enemy did this, O Queen:
But the wit-baffling will and hand of Heaven.
ARCAS
No enemy! and what hast thou, then, heard?
Swift as I came, hath Falsehood been before?
THE CHORUS
A youth arriv’d but now, the son, he said, 960
Of an Arcadian lord, our prince’s friend,
Jaded with travel, clad in hunter’s garb.
He brought report that his own eyes had seen
The prince, in chase after a swimming stage,
Swept down a chasm broken in the cliff 965
Which hangs o’er the Stymphalian Lake, and drown’d.
ARCAS
Ah me! with what a foot doth Treason post,
While Loyalty, with all her speed, is slow!
Another tale, I trow, thy messenger
For the King’s private ear reserves, like this 970
In one thing only, that the prince is dead.
THE CHORUS
And how then runs this true and private tale?
ARCAS
As much to the King’s wish, more to his shame.
This young Arcadian noble, guard and mate
To Aepytus, the king seduc’d with gold, 975
And had him at the prince’s side in leash,
Ready to slip on his unconscious prey.
He on a hunting party three days since,
Among the forests on Cyllene’s side,
Perform’d good service for his bloody wage; 980
The prince, his uncle Laias, whom his ward
Had in a father’s place, he basely murder’d.
Take this for true, the other tale for feign’d.
THE CHORUS
And this perfidious murder who reveal’d?
ARCAS
The faithless murderer’s own, no other tongue. 985
THE CHORUS
Did conscience goad him to denounce himself?
ARCAS
To Cypselus at Basilis he brought
This strange unlikely tale, the prince was drown’d.
THE CHORUS
But not a word appears of murder here.
ARCAS
Examin’d close, he own’d this story false. 990
Then evidence came — his comrades of the hunt,
Who saw the prince and Laias last with him,
Never again in life — next, agents, fee’d
To ply ‘twixt the Messenian King and him,
Spoke, and reveal’d, that traffic, and the traitor. 995
So charg’d, he stood dumb-founder’d: Cypselus,
On this suspicion, cast him into chains.
Thence he escap’d — and next I find him here.
THE CHORUS
His presence with the King, thou mean’st, implies ——
ARCAS
He comes to tell his prompter he hath sped. 1000
THE CHORUS
Still he repeats the drowning story here.
ARCAS
To thee — that needs no Oedipus to explain.
THE CHORUS
Interpret, then; for we, it seems, are dull.
ARCAS
Your King desir’d the profit of his death,
Not the black credit of his murderer. 1005
That stern word ‘murder’ had too dread a sound
For the Messenian hearts, who lov’d the prince.
THE CHORUS
Suspicion grave I see, but no clear proof.
MEROPE
Peace! peace! all’s clear. — The wicked watch and work
While the good sleep: the workers have the day. 1010
He who was sent hath sped, and now comes back,
To chuckle with his sender o’er the game
Which foolish innocence plays with subtle guilt.
&
nbsp; Ah! now I comprehend the liberal grace
Of this far-scheming tyrant, and his boon 1015
Of heirship to his kingdom for my son:
He had his murderer ready, and the sword
Lifted, and that unwish’d-for heirship void —
A tale, meanwhile, forg’d for his subjects’ ears:
And me, henceforth sole rival with himself 1020
In their allegiance, me, in my son’s death-hour,
When all turn’d tow’rds me, me he would have shown
To my Messenians, dup’d, disarm’d, despis’d,
The willing sharer of his guilty rule,
All claim to succour forfeit, to myself 1025
Hateful, by each Messenian heart abhorr’d. —
His offers I repelled — but what of that?
If with no rage, no fire of righteous hate,
Such as ere now hath spurr’d to fearful deeds
Weak women with a thousandth part my wrongs, 1030
But calm, but unresentful, I endur’d
His offers, coldly heard them, cold repell’d?
While all this time I bear to linger on
In this blood-delug’d palace, in whose halls
Either a vengeful Furry I should stalk, 1035
Or else not live at all — but here I haunt,
A pale, unmeaning ghost, powerless to fright
Or harm, and nurse my longing for my son,
A helpless one, I know it: — but the Gods
Have temper’d me e’en thus; and, in some souls, 1040
Misery, which rouses others, breaks the spring.
And even now, my son, ah me! my son,
Fain would I fade away, as I have liv’d,
Without a cry, a struggle, or a blow,
All vengeance unattempted, and descend 1045
To the invisible plains, to roam with thee,
Fit denizen, the lampless under-world —
But with what eyes should I encounter there
My husband, wandering with his stern compeers,
Amphiaraos, or Mycenae’s king, 1050
Who led the Greeks to Ilium, Agamemnon,
Betray’d like him, but, not like him, aveng’d?
Or with what voice shall I the questions meet
Of my two elder sons, slain long ago,
Who sadly ask me, what, if not revenge, 1055
Kept me, their mother, from their side so long?
Or how reply to thee, my child, last-born,
Last-murder’d, who reproachfully wilt say —
Mother, I well believ’d thou lived’st on
In the detested palace of thy foe, 1060
With patience on thy face, death in thy heart,
Counting, till I grew up, the laggard years,
That our joint hands might then together pay
To one unhappy house the debt we owe.
My death makes my debt void, and doubles thine — 1065
But down thou fleest here, and leav’st our scourge
Triumphant, and condemnest all our race
To lie in gloom for ever unappeas’d.
What shall I have to answer to such words? —
No, something must be dar’d; and, great as erst 1070
Our dastard patience, be our daring now!
Come, ye swift Furies, who to him ye haunt
Permit no peace till your behests are done;
Come Hermes, who dost watch the unjustly kill’d,
And can’st teach simple ones to plot and feign; 1075
Come, lightning Passion, that with foot of fire
Advancest to the middle of a deed
Almost before ‘tis plann’d; come, glowing hate;
Come, baneful Mischief, from thy murky Hate;
Under the dripping black Tartarean cliff 1080
Which Styx’s awful waters trickle down —
Inspire this coward heart, this flagging arm!
How say ye, maidens, do ye know these prayers?
Are these words Merope’s — is this voice mine?
Old man, old man, thou had’st my boy in charge, 1085
And he is lost, and thou hast that to atone.
Fly, find me on the instant where confer
The murderer and his impious setter-on:
And ye, keep faithful silence, friends, and mark
What one weak woman can achieve alone. 1090
ARCAS
O mistress, by the Gods, do nothing rash!
MEROPE
Unfaithful servant, dost thou, too, desert me?
ARCAS
I go! I go! — yet, Queen, take this one word:
Attempting deeds beyond thy power to do,
Thou nothing profitest thy friends, but mak’st 1095
Our misery more, and thine own ruin sure.
ARCAS goes out.
THE CHORUS
I have heard, O Queen, how a prince, str. 1.
Agamemnon’s son, in Mycenae,
Orestes, died but in name,
Liv’d for the death of his foes. 1100
MEROPE
Peace!
THE CHORUS
What is it?
MEROPE
Alas,
Thou destroyest me!
THE CHORUS
How?
MEROPE
Whispering hope of a life
Which no strange unknown,
But the faithful servant and guard, 1105
Whose tears warrant his truth,
Bears sad witness is lost.
THE CHORUS
Wheresoe’er men are, there is grief. ant. 1.
In a thousand countries, a thousand
Homes, e’en now is there wail: 1110
Mothers lamenting their sons.
MEROPE
Yes ——
THE CHORUS
Thou knowest it?
MEROPE
This
Who lives, witnesses.
THE CHORUS
True.
MEROPE
But, is it only a fate
Sure, all-common, to lose 1115
In a land of friends, by a friend.
One last, murder-sav’d child?
THE CHORUS
Ah me! str. 2.
MEROPE
Thou confessest the prize
In the rushing, thundering, mad, 1120
Cloud-envelop’d, obscure,
Unapplauded, unsung
Race of calamity, mine?
THE CHORUS
None can truly claim that
Mournful pre-eminence, not 1125
Thou.
MEROPE
Fate gives it, ah me!
THE CHORUS
Not, above all, in the doubts,
Double and clashing, that hang ——
MEROPE
What then? ant. 2.
Seems it lighter, my loss, 1130
If, perhaps, unpierc’d by the sword,
My child lies in a jagg’d
Sunless prison of rocks,
On the black wave borne to and fro?
THE CHORUS
Worse, far worse, if his friend, 1135
If the Arcadian within,
If ——
MEROPE (with a start)
How say’st thou? within?…
THE CHORUS
He in the guest-chamber now,
Faithlessly murder his friend.
MEROPE
Ye, too, ye, too, join to betray, then, 1140
Your Queen!
THE CHORUS
What is this?
MEROPE
Ye knew,
O false friends! into what
Haven the murderer had dropp’d?
Ye kept silence?
THE CHORUS
In fear,
O lov’d mistress! in fear, 1145
Dreading thine over-wrought mood,
What I knew, I conceal’d.
MEROPE
Swear by Gods hencefo
rth to obey me!
THE CHORUS
Unhappy one, what deed
Purposes thy despair? 1150
I promise; but I fear.
MEROPE
From the altar, the unveng’d tomb,
Fetch me the sacrifice-axe! ——
The CHORUS goes towards the tomb of CRESPHONTES, and their leader brings back the axe.
O Husband, O cloth’d
With the grave’s everlasting, 1155
All-covering darkness! O King,
Well mourn’d, but ill-aveng’d!
Approv’st thou thy wife now? ——
The axe! — who brings it?
THE CHORUS
‘Tis here!
But thy gesture, thy look, 1160
Appals me, shakes me with awe.
MEROPE
Thrust back now the bolt of that door!
THE CHORUS
Alas! alas! —
Behold the fastenings withdrawn
Of the guest-chamber door! — 1165
Ah! I beseech thee — with tears ——
MEROPE
Throw the door open!
THE CHORUS
‘Tis done!…
The door of the house is thrown open: the interior of the guest-chamber is discovered, with AEPYTUS asleep on a couch.
MEROPE
He sleeps — sleeps calm. O ye all-seeing Gods!
Thus peacefully do ye let sinners sleep,
While troubled innocents toss, and lie awake? 1170
What sweeter sleep than this could I desire
For thee, my child, if thou wert yet alive?
How often have I dream’d of thee like this,
With thy soil’d hunting-coat, and sandals torn,
Asleep in the Arcadian glens at noon, 1175
Thy head droop’d softly, and the golden curls
Clustering o’er thy white forehead, like a girl’s;
The short proud lip showing thy race, thy cheeks
Brown’d with thine open-air, free, hunter’s life.
Ah me!… 1180
And where dost thou sleep now, my innocent boy? —
In some dark fir-tree’s shadow, amid rocks
Untrodden, on Cyllene’s desolate side;