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Arcas

Faithful, not welcome, when my tale is told.
O that my over-speed and bursting grief
Had on the journey choked my labouring breath,
And lock’d my speech for ever in my breast!
Yet then another man would bring this news,
Wherewith from end to end Arcadia rings.–
O honour’d Queen, thy son, my charge, is gone.

The Chorus

Too suddenly thou tellest such a loss.
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.

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 arrived but now–the son, he said,
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 stag,
Swept down a chasm rifted in the cliff
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
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 seduced with gold,
And had him at the prince’s side in leash,
Ready to slip on his unconscious prey.
He on a hunting party two days since,
Among the forests on Cyllene’s side,
Perform’d good service for his bloody wage;
Our prince, and the good Laias, whom his ward
Had in a father’s place, he basely murder’d.
‘Tis so, ’tis so, alas, for see the proof:
Uncle and nephew disappear; their death
Is charged against this stripling; agents, fee’d
To ply ‘twixt the Messenian king and him,
Come forth, denounce the traffic and the traitor.
Seized, he escapes–and next I find him here.
Take this for true, the other tale for feign’d.

The Chorus

The youth, thou say’st, we saw and heard but now–

Arcas

He comes to tell his prompter he hath sped.

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 desired the profit of his death,
Not the black credit of his murderer.
That stern word “murder” had too dread a sound
For the Messenian hearts, who loved the prince.

The Chorus

Suspicion grave I see, but no firm proof.

Merope

Peace! peace! all’s clear.–The wicked watch and work
While the good sleep; the workers have the day.
Yes! yes! now I conceive 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, forged 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, duped, disarm’d, despised,
The willing sharer of his guilty rule,
All claim to succour forfeit, to myself
Hateful, by each Messenian heart abhorr’d.
His offers I repell’d–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 endured
His offers, coldly heard them, cold repell’d?
How must men think me abject, void of heart,
While all this time I bear to linger on
In this blood-deluged 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 lived,
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, avenged?
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 believed 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 unappeased.
What shall I have to answer to such words?–
No, something must be dared; 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 friend 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.