Poetry · Merope (2/2) (2/2) (4/7)

| Merope | Peace! peace! all’s clear.⁠—The wicked watch and work While the good sleep: the workers have the day. 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. Ah! now I comprehend the liberal grace Of this far-scheming tyrant, and his boon 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 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 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, 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 Fury I should stalk, 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, 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 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, 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, 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, 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 our unhappy house the debt we owe. My death makes my debt void, and doubles thine⁠— 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 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; 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 den Under the dripping black Tartarean cliff 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, 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. | | 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 Our misery more, and thine own ruin sure. Arcas goes out. | | The Chorus | I have heard, O Queen, how a prince, Agamemnon’s son, in Mycenae, Orestes, died but in name, Lived for the death of his foes. | | Merope | Peace! | | The Chorus | What is it? | | Merope | Alas, Thou destroyest me! | | The Chorus | How? | | Merope | Whispering hope of a life Which no stranger unknown, But the faithful servant and nurse, Whose tears warrant his truth, Bears sad witness is lost. | | The Chorus | Wheresoe’er men are, there is grief. In a thousand countries, a thousand Homes, e’en now is there wail; 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 In a land of friends, by a friend, One last, murder-sav’d child? | | The Chorus | Ah me! | | Merope | Thou confessest the prize In the rushing, thundering, mad, Cloud-envelop’d, obscure, Unapplauded, unsung Race of calamity, mine? | | The Chorus | None can truly claim that Mournful preeminence, not Thou. | | Merope | Fate gives it, ah me! | | The Chorus | Not, above all, in the doubts, Double and clashing, that hang⁠— | | Merope | What then? Seems it lighter, my loss, If, perhaps, unpierc’d by the sword, My child lies in his jagg’d Sunless prison of rock, On the black wave borne to and fro? | | The Chorus | Worse, far worse, if his friend, If the Arcadian within, If⁠— | | Merope | With a start. How say’st thou? within?⁠ ⁠… | | The Chorus | He in the guest-chamber now, Faithlessly murder’d his friend. | | Merope | Ye, too, ye, too, join to betray, then 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, Dreading thine over-wrought mood, What I knew, I conceal’d. | | Merope | Swear by the Gods henceforth to obey me! | | The Chorus | Unhappy one, what deed Purposes thy despair? I promise; but I fear. | | Merope | From the altar, the unavenged 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, 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, 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!⁠— 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? 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, 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!⁠ ⁠… And where dost thou sleep now, my innocent boy?⁠— In some dark fir-tree’s shadow, amid rocks Untrodden, on Cyllene’s desolate side; Where travellers never pass, where only come Wild beasts, and vultures sailing overhead. There, there thou liest now, my hapless child! Stretch’d among briers and stones, the slow, black gore Oozing through thy soak’d hunting-shirt, with limbs Yet stark from the death-struggle, tight-clench’d hands, And eyeballs staring for revenge in vain. Ah miserable!⁠ ⁠… And thou, thou fair-skinn’d Serpent! thou art laid In a rich chamber, on a happy bed, In a king’s house, thy victim’s heritage; And drink’st untroubled slumber, to sleep off The toils of thy foul service, till thou wake Refresh’d, and claim thy master’s thanks and gold.⁠— Wake up in hell from thine unhallow’d sleep, Thou smiling Fiend, and claim thy guerdon there! Wake amid gloom, and howling, and the noise Of sinners pinion’d on the torturing wheel, And the stanch Furies’ never-silent scourge. And bid the chief-tormentors there provide For a grand culprit shortly coming down. Go thou the first, and usher in thy lord! A more just stroke than that thou gav’st my son Take⁠—Merope* advances towards the sleeping Aepytus, with the axe uplifted. At the same moment Arcas re-enters. | | Arcas | To the Chorus. Not with him to council did the King Carry his messenger, but left him here. | | | Sees Merope and Aepytus. | | | O Gods!⁠ ⁠… | | Merope | Foolish old man, thou spoil’st my blow! | | Arcas | What do I see?⁠ ⁠… | | Merope | A murderer at death’s door. Therefore no words! | | Arcas | A murderer?⁠ ⁠… | | Merope | And a captive To the dear next-of-kin of him he murder’d. Stand, and let vengeance pass! | | Arcas | Hold, O Queen, hold! Thou know’st not whom thou strik’st.⁠ ⁠… | | Merope | I know his crime. | | Arcas | Unhappy one! thou strik’st⁠— | | Merope | A most just blow. | | Arcas | No, by the Gods, thou slay’st⁠— | | Merope | Stand off! | | Arcas | Thy son! | | Merope | Ah!⁠ ⁠… She lets the axe drop, and falls insensible. | | Aepytus | Awaking. Who are these? What shrill, ear-piercing scream Wakes me thus kindly from the perilous sleep Wherewith fatigue and youth had bound mine eyes, Even in the deadly palace of my foe?⁠— Arcas! Thou here? | | Arcas | Embracing him. O my dear master! O My child, my charge belov’d, welcome to life! As dead we held thee, mourn’d for thee as dead. | | Aepytus | In word I died, that I in deed might live. But who are these? | | Arcas | Messenian maidens, friends. | | Aepytus | And, Arcas!⁠—but I tremble! | | Arcas | Boldly ask. | | Aepytus | That black-rob’d, swooning figure?⁠ ⁠… | | Arcas | Merope. | | Aepytus | O mother! mother! | | Merope | Who upbraids me? Ah!⁠ ⁠… Seeing the axe. | | Aepytus | Upbraids thee? no one. | | Merope | Thou dost well: but take⁠ ⁠… | | Aepytus | What wav’st thou off? | | Merope | That murderous axe away! | | Aepytus | Thy son is here. | | Merope | One said so, sure, but now. | | Aepytus | Here, here thou hast him! | | Merope | Slaughter’d by this hand!⁠ ⁠… | | Aepytus | No, by the Gods, alive and like to live! | | Merope | What, thou?⁠—I dream⁠— | | Aepytus | May’st thou dream ever so! | | Merope | Advancing towards him. My child? unhurt?⁠ ⁠… | | Aepytus | Only by over joy. | | Merope | Art thou, then, come?⁠ ⁠… | | Aepytus | Never to part again. They fall into one another’s arms. Then Merope, holding Aepytus by the hand, turns to The Chorus*. | | Merope | O kind Messenian maidens, O my friends, Bear witness, see, mark well, on what a head My first stroke of revenge had nearly fallen! | | The Chorus | We see, dear mistress: and we say, the Gods, As hitherto they kept him, keep him now. | | Merope | O my son! I have, I have thee⁠ ⁠… the years Fly back, my child! and thou seem’st Ne’er to have gone from these eyes, Never been torn from this breast. | | Aepytus | Mother, my heart runs over: but the time Presses me, chides me, will not let me weep. | | Merope | Fearest thou now? | | Aepytus | I fear not, but I think on my design. | | Merope | At the undried fount of this breast, A babe, thou smilest again. Thy brothers play at my feet, Early-slain innocents! near, Thy kind-speaking father stands. | | Aepytus | Remember, to revenge his death I come! | | Merope | Ah⁠ ⁠… revenge! That word! it kills me! I see Once more roll back on my house, Never to ebb, the accurs’d All-flooding ocean of blood. | | Aepytus | Mother, sometimes the justice of the Gods Appoints the way to peace through shedding blood. | | Merope | Sorrowful peace! | | Aepytus | And yet the only peace to us allow’d. | | Merope | From the first-wrought vengeance is born A long succession of crimes. Fresh blood flows, calling for blood: Fathers, sons, grandsons, are all One death-dealing vengeful train. | | Aepytus | Mother, thy fears are idle: for I come To close an old wound, not to open new. In all else willing to be taught, in this Instruct me not; I have my lesson clear.⁠— Arcas, seek out my uncle Laias, now Conferring in the city with our friends; Here bring him, ere the king come back from council: That, how to accomplish what the Gods enjoin, And the slow-ripening time at last prepares, We two with thee, my mother, may consult: For whose help dare I count on if not thine? | | Merope | Approves my brother Laias this design? | | Aepytus | Yes, and alone is with me here to share. | | Merope | And what of thine Arcadian mate, who bears Suspicion from thy grandsire of thy death, For whom, as I suppose, thou passest here? | | Aepytus | Sworn to our plot he is: but, that surmise Fix’d him the author of my death, I knew not. | | Merope | Proof, not surmise, shows him in commerce close⁠— | | Aepytus | With this Messenian tyrant⁠—that I know. | | Merope | And entertain’st thou, child, such dangerous friends? | | Aepytus | This commerce for my best behoof he plies. | | Merope | That thou may’st read thine enemy’s counsel plain? | | Aepytus | Too dear his secret wiles have cost our house. | | Merope | And of his unsure agent what demands he? | | Aepytus | News of my business, pastime, temper, friends. | | Merope | His messages, then, point not to thy murder? | | Aepytus | Not yet; though such, no doubt, his final aim. | | Merope | And what Arcadian helpers bring’st thou here? | | Aepytus | Laias alone; no errand mine for crowds. | | Merope | On what relying, to crush such a foe? | | Aepytus | One sudden stroke, and the Messenians’ love. |