Delphi Complete Poetical Works of Matthew Arnold

by Matthew Arnold

When they corrupt the souls of those they rule.

  THE CHORUS

  Zeal makes him most unjust: but, in good time,

  Here, as I guess, the noble Laias comes. 1455

  LAIAS

  Break off, break off your talking, and depart

  Each to his post, where the occasion calls;

  Lest from the council-chamber presently

  The King return, and find you prating here.

  A time will come for greetings; but to-day 1460

  The hour for words is gone, is come for deeds.

  AEPYTUS

  O princely Laias! to what purpose calls

  The occasion, if our chief confederate fails?

  My mother stands aloof, and blames our deed.

  LAIAS

  My royal sister?… but, without some cause, 1465

  I know, she honours not the dead so ill.

  MEROPE

  Brother, it seems thy sister must present,

  At this first meeting after absence long,

  Not welcome, exculpation to her kin:

  Yet exculpation needs it, if I seek, 1470

  A woman and a mother, to avert

  Risk from my new-restor’d, my only son? —

  Sometimes, when he was gone, I wish’d him back,

  Risk what he might; now that I have him here,

  Now that I feed mine eyes on that young face, 1475

  Hear that fresh voice, and clasp that gold-lock’d head,

  I shudder, Laias, to commit my child

  To Murder’s dread arena, where I saw

  His father and his ill starr’d brethren fall:

  I loathe for him the slippery way of blood; 1480

  I ask if bloodless means may gain his end.

  In me the fever of revengeful hate,

  Passion’s first furious longing to imbrue

  Our own right hand in the detested blood

  Of enemies, and count their dying groans — 1485

  If in this feeble bosom such a fire

  Did ever burn — is long by time allay’d,

  And I would now have Justice strike, not me.

  Besides — for from my brother and my son

  I hide not even this — the reverence deep, 1490

  Remorseful, tow’rd my hostile solitude,

  By Polyphontes never fail’d-in once

  Through twenty years; his mournful anxious zeal

  To efface in me the memory of his crime —

  Though it efface not that, yet makes me wish 1495

  His death a public, not a personal act,

  Treacherously plotted ‘twixt my son and me;

  To whom this day he came to proffer peace,

  Treaty, and to this kingdom for my son

  Heirship, with fair intent, as I believe: — 1500

  For that he plots thy death, account it false;

  to AEPYTUS.

  Number it with the thousand rumours vain,

  Figments of plots, wherewith intriguers fill

  The enforced leisure of an exile’s ear: —

  Immers’d in serious state-craft is the King, 1505

  Bent above all to pacify, to rule,

  Rigidly, yet in settled calm, this realm;

  Not prone, all say, to useless bloodshed now. —

  So much is due to truth, even tow’rds our foe.

  to LAIAS.

  Do I, then, give to usurpation grace, 1510

  And from his natural rights my son debar?

  Not so: let him — and none shall be more prompt

  Than I to help — raise his Messenian friends;

  Let him fetch succours from Arcadia, gain

  His Argive or his Spartan cousins’ aid; 1515

  Let him do this, do aught but recommence

  Murder’s uncertain, secret, perilous game —

  And I, when to his righteous standard down

  Flies Victory wing’d, and Justice raises then

  Her sword, will be the first to bid it fall. 1520

  If, haply, at this moment, such attempt

  Promise not fair, let him a little while

  Have faith, and trust the future and the Gods.

  He may — for never did the Gods allow

  Fast permanence to an ill-gotten throne. — 1525

  These are but woman’s words; — yet, Laias, thou

  Despise them not! for, brother, thou, like me,

  Wert not among the feuds of warrior-chiefs,

  Each sovereign for his dear-bought hour, born;

  But in the pastoral Arcadia rear’d, 1530

  With Cypselus our father, where we saw

  The simple patriarchal state of kings,

  Where sire to son transmits the unquestion’d crown,

  Unhack’d, unsmirch’d, unbloodied, and hast learnt

  That spotless hands unshaken sceptres hold. 1535

  Having learnt this, then, use thy knowledge now.

  THE CHORUS

  Which way to lean I know not: bloody strokes

  Are never free from doubt, though sometimes due.

  LAIAS

  O Merope, the common heart of man

  Agrees to deem some deeds so horrible, 1540

  That neither gratitude, nor tie of race,

  Womanly pity, nor maternal fear,

  Nor any pleader else, shall be indulg’d

  To breathe a syllable to bar revenge.

  All this, no doubt, thou to thyself hast urg’d — 1545

  Time presses, so that theme forbear I now:

  Direct to thy dissuasions I reply.

  Blood-founded thrones, thou say’st, are insecure;

  Our father’s kingdom, because pure, is safe.

  True; but what cause to our Arcadia gives 1550

  Its privileg’d immunity from blood,

  But that, since first the black and fruitful Earth

  In the primeval mountain-forests bore

  Pelasgus, our forefather and mankind’s,

  Legitimately sire to son, with us, 1555

  Bequeaths the allegiance of our shepherd-tribes,

  More loyal, as our line continues more? —

  How can your Heracleidan chiefs inspire

  This awe which guards our earth-sprung, lineal kings?

  What permanence, what stability like ours, 1560

  Whether blood flows or no, can yet invest

  The broken order of your Dorian thrones,

  Fix’d yesterday, and ten their chang’d since then? —

  Two brothers, and their orphan nephews, strove

  For the three conquer’d kingdoms of this isle: 1565

  The eldest, mightiest brother, Temenus, took

  Argos: a juggle to Cresphontes gave

  Messenia: to those helpless Boys, the lot

  Worst of the three, the stony Sparta, fell.

  August, indeed, was the foundation here! 1570

  What followed? — His most trusted kinsman slew

  Cresphontes in Messenia; Temenus

  Perish’d in Argos by his jealous sons;

  The Spartan Brothers with their guardian strive: —

  Can houses thus ill-seated — thus embroil’d — 1575

  Thus little founded in their subjects’ love,

  Practise the indulgent, bloodless policy

  Of dynasties long-fix’d, and honour’d long?

  No! Vigour and severity must chain

  Popular reverence to these recent lines; 1580

  If their first-founded order be maintain’d —

  Their murder’d rulers terribly aveng’d —

  Ruthlessly their rebellious subjects crush’d. —

  Since policy bids thus, what fouler death

  Than thine illustrious husband’s to avenge 1585

  Shall we select? — than Polyphontes, what

  More daring and more grand offender find?

  Justice, my sister, long demands this blow,

  And Wisdom, now thou see’st, demands it too:

  To s
trike it, then, dissuade thy son no more; 1590

  For to live disobedient to these two,

  Justice and Wisdom, is no life at all.

  THE CHORUS

  The Gods, O mistress dear! the hard-soul’d man,

  Who spar’d not others, bid not us to spare.

  MEROPE

  Alas! against my brother, son, and friends, 1595

  One, and a woman, how can I prevail? —

  O brother! thou hast conquer’d; yet, I fear.…

  Son! with a doubting heart thy mother yields …

  May it turn happier than my doubts portend!

  LAIAS

  Meantime on thee the task of silence only 1600

  Shall be impos’d; to us shall be the deed.

  Now, not another word, but to our act!

  Nephew! thy friends are sounded, and prove true:

  Thy father’s murderer, in the public place,

  Performs, this noon, a solemn sacrifice: 1605

  Go with him — choose the moment — strike thy blow!

  If prudence counsels thee to go unarm’d,

  The sacrificer’s axe will serve thy turn.

  To me and the Messenians leave the rest,

  With the Gods’ aid — and, if they give but aid 1610

  As our just cause deserves, I do not fear.

  AEPYTUS, LAIAS, and ARCAS go out.

  THE CHORUS

  O Son and Mother, str. 1.

  Whom the Gods o’ershadow,

  In dangerous trial,

  With certainty of favour! 1615

  As erst they shadow’d

  Your race’s founders

  From irretrievable woe:

  When the seed of Lycaon

  Lay forlorn, lay outcast, 1620

  Callisto and her Boy.

  What deep-grass’d meadow ant. 1.

  At the meeting valleys —

  Where clear-flowing Ladon,

  Most beautiful of waters, 1625

  Receives the river

  Whose trout are vocal,

  The Aroanian stream —

  Without home, without mother,

  Hid the babe, hid Arcas, 1630

  The nursling of the dells?

  But the sweet-smelling myrtle, str. 2.

  And the pink-flower’d oleander,

  And the green agnus-castus,

  To the West-Wind’s murmur, 1635

  Rustled round his cradle;

  And Maia rear’d him.

  Then, a boy, he startled

  In the snow-fill’d hollows

  Of high Cyllene 1640

  The white mountain-birds;

  Or surpris’d, in the glens,

  The basking tortoises,

  Whose strip’d shell founded

  In the hand of Hermes 1645

  The glory of the lyre.

  But his mother, Callisto, ant. 2.

  In her hiding-place of the thickets

  Of the lentisk and ilex,

  In her rough form, fearing 1650

  The hunter on the outlook,

  Poor changeling! trembled.

  Or the children, plucking

  In the thorn-chok’d gullies

  Wild gooseberries, scar’d her, 1655

  The shy mountain-bear.

  Or the shepherds, on slopes

  With pale-spik’d lavender

  And crisp thyme tufted,

  Came upon her, stealing 1660

  At day-break through the dew.

  Once, ‘mid the gorges, str. 2.

  Spray-drizzled, lonely,

  Unclimb’d by man —

  O’er whose cliffs the townsmen 1665

  Of crag-perch’d Nonacris

  Behold in summer

  The slender torrent

  Of Styx come dancing,

  A wind-blown thread — 1670

  By the precipices of Khelmos,

  The fleet, desperate hunter,

  The youthful Arcas, born of Zeus,

  His fleeing mother,

  Transform’d Callisto, 1675

  Unwitting follow’d —

  And rais’d his spear.

  Turning, with piteous ant. 3.

  Distressful longing,

  Sad, eager eyes, 1680

  Mutely she regarded

  Her well-known enemy.

  Low moans half utter’d

  What speech refus’d her;

  Tears cours’d, tears human, 1685

  Down those disfigur’d

  Once human cheeks.

  With unutterable foreboding

  Her son, heart-stricken, ey’d her.

  The Gods had pity, made them Stars. 1690

  Stars now they sparkle

  In the northern Heaven;

  The guard Arcturus,

  The guard-watch’d Bear.

  So, o’er thee and thy child, epode. 1695

  Some God, Merope, now,

  In dangerous hour, stretches his hand.

  So, like a star, dawns thy son,

  Radiant with fortune and joy.

  POLYPHONTES comes in.

  POLYPHONTES

  O Merope, the trouble on thy face 1700

  Tells me enough thou know’st the news which all

  Messenia speaks: the prince, thy son, is dead.

  Not from my lips should consolation fall:

  To offer that, I came not; but to urge,

  Even after news of this sad death, our league. 1705

  Yes, once again I come; I will not take

  This morning’s angry answer for thy last:

  To the Messenian kingdom thou and I

  Are the sole claimants left; what cause of strife

  Lay in thy son is buried in his grave. 1710

  Most honourably I meant, I call the Gods

  To witness, offering him return and power:

  Yet, had he liv’d, suspicion, jealousy,

  Inevitably had surg’d up, perhaps,

  ‘Twixt thee and me; suspicion, that I nurs’d 1715

  Some ill design against him; jealousy,

  That he enjoy’d but part, being heir to all.

  And he himself, with the impetuous heart

  Of youth, ‘tis like, had never quite forgone

  The thought of vengeance on me, never quite 1720

  Unclos’d his itching fingers from his sword.

  But thou, O Merope, though deeply wrong’d,

  Though injur’d past forgiveness, as men deem,

  Yet hast been long at school with thoughtful Time,

  And from that teacher may’st have learn’d, like me, 1725

  That all may be endur’d, and all forgiv’n;

  Have learn’d that we must sacrifice the thirst

  Of personal vengeance to the public weal;

  Have learn’d, that there are guilty deeds, which leave

  The hand that does them guiltless; in a word, 1730

  That kings live for their peoples, not themselves.

  This having learn’d, let us a union found

  (For the last time I ask, ask earnestly)

  Bas’d on pure public welfare; let us be —

  Not Merope and Polyphontes, foes 1735

  Blood-sever’d — but Messenia’s King and Queen:

  Let us forget ourselves for those we rule.

  Speak: I go hence to offer sacrifice

  To the Preserver Zeus; let me return

  Thanks to him for our amity as well. 1740

  MEROPE

  Oh had’st thou, Polyphontes, still but kept

  The silence thou hast kept for twenty years!

  POLYPHONTES

  Henceforth, if what I urge displease, I may:

  But fair proposal merits fair reply.

  MEROPE

  And thou shalt have it! Yes, because thou hast 1745

  For twenty years forborne to interrupt

  The solitude of her whom thou hast wrong’d —

  That scanty grace shall earn thee this reply. —

  First, for our union
. Trust me, ‘twixt us two

  The brazen-footed Fury ever stalks, 1750

  Waving her hundred hands, a torch in each,

  Aglow with angry fire, to keep us twain.

  Now, for thyself. Thou com’st with well-cloak’d joy,

  To announce the ruin of my husband’s house,

  To sound thy triumph in his widow’s ears, 1755

  To bid her share thine unendanger’d throne: —

  To this thou would’st have answer. — Take it: Fly!

  Cut short thy triumph, seeming at its height;

  Fling off thy crown, suppos’d at last secure;

  Forsake this ample, proud Messenian realm: 1760

  To some small, humble, and unnoted strand,

  Some rock more lonely than that Lemnian isle

  Where Philoctetes pin’d, take ship and flee:

  Some solitude more inaccessible

  Than the ice-bastion’d Caucasean Mount, 1765

  Chosen a prison for Prometheus, climb:

  There in unvoic’d oblivion hide thy name,

  And bid the sun, thine only visitant,

  Divulge not to the far-off world of men

  What once-fam’d wretch he hath seen lurking there. 1770

  There nurse a late remorse, and thank the Gods,

  And thank thy bitterest foe, that, having lost

  All things but life, thou lose not life as well.

  POLYPHONTES

  What mad bewilderment of grief is this?

  MEROPE

  Thou art bewilder’d: the sane head is mine. 1775

  POLYPHONTES

  I pity thee, and wish thee calmer mind.

  MEROPE

  Pity thyself; none needs compassion more.

  POLYPHONTES

  Yet, oh! could’st thou but act as reason bids!

  MEROPE

  And in my turn I wish the same for thee.

  POLYPHONTES

  All I could do to soothe thee has been tried. 1780

  MEROPE

  For that, in this my warning, thou art paid.

  POLYPHONTES

  Know’st thou then aught, that thus thou sound’st the alarm?

  MEROPE

  Thy crime: that were enough to make one fear.

  POLYPHONTES

  My deed is of old date, and long aton’d.

  MEROPE

  Aton’d this very day, perhaps, it is. 1785

  POLYPHONTES

  My final victory proves the Gods appeas’d.

  MEROPE

  O victor, victor, trip not at the goal!