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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.

Merope

O thou long-lost, long seen in dreams alone,
But now seen face to face, my only child!
Why wilt thou fly to lose as soon as found
My new-won treasure, thy beloved life?
Or how expectest not to lose, who com’st
With such slight means to cope with such a foe?
Thine enemy thou know’st not, nor his strength.
The stroke thou purposest is desperate, rash–
Yet grant that it succeeds–thou hast behind
The stricken king a second enemy
Scarce dangerous less than him, the Dorian lords.
These are not now the savage band who erst
Follow’d thy father from their northern hills,
Mere ruthless and uncounsell’d wolves of war,
Good to obey, without a leader nought.
Their chief hath train’d them, made them like himself,
Sagacious, men of iron, watchful, firm,
Against surprise and sudden panic proof.
Their master fall’n, these will not flinch, but band
To keep their master’s power; thou wilt find
Behind his corpse their hedge of serried spears.
But, to match these, thou hast the people’s love?
On what a reed, my child, thou leanest there!
Knowest thou not how timorous, how unsure,
How useless an ally a people is
Against the one and certain arm of power?
Thy father perish’d in this people’s cause,
Perish’d before their eyes, yet no man stirr’d!
For years, his widow, in their sight I stand,
A never-changing index to revenge–
What help, what vengeance, at their hands have I?–
At least, if thou wilt trust them, try them first.
Against the King himself array the host
Thou countest on to back thee ‘gainst his lords;
First rally the Messenians to thy cause,
Give them cohesion, purpose, and resolve,
Marshal them to an army–then advance,
Then try the issue; and not, rushing on
Single and friendless, give to certain death
That dear-beloved, that young, that gracious head.
Be guided, O my son! spurn counsel not!
For know thou this, a violent heart hath been
Fatal to all the race of Heracles.

The Chorus

With sage experience she speaks; and thou,
O AEpytus, weigh well her counsel given.

AEpytus

Ill counsel, in my judgment, gives she here,
Maidens, and reads experience much amiss;
Discrediting the succour which our cause
Might from the people draw, if rightly used;
Advising us a course which would, indeed,
If follow’d, make their succour slack and null.
A people is no army, train’d to fight,
A passive engine, at their general’s will;
And, if so used, proves, as thou say’st, unsure.
A people, like a common man, is dull,
Is lifeless, while its heart remains untouch’d;
A fool can drive it, and a fly may scare.
When it admires and loves, its heart awakes:
Then irresistibly it lives, it works;
A people, then, is an ally indeed–
It is ten thousand fiery wills in one.
Now I, if I invite them to run risk
Of life for my advantage, and myself,
Who chiefly profit, run no more than they–
How shall I rouse their love, their ardour so?
But, if some signal, unassisted stroke,
Dealt at my own sole risk, before their eyes,
Announces me their rightful prince return’d–
The undegenerate blood of Heracles–
The daring claimant of a perilous throne–
How might not such a sight as this revive
Their loyal passion tow’rd my father’s house,
Kindle their hearts, make them no more a mob,
A craven mob, but a devouring fire?
Then might I use them, then, for one who thus
Spares not himself, themselves they will not spare.
Haply, had but one daring soul stood forth
To rally them and lead them to revenge,
When my great father fell, they had replied!
Alas! our foe alone stood forward then.
And thou, my mother, hadst thou made a sign–
Hadst thou, from thy forlorn and captive state
Of widowhood in these polluted halls,
Thy prison-house, raised one imploring cry–
Who knows but that avengers thou hadst found?
But mute thou sat’st, and each Messenian heart
In thy despondency desponded too.
Enough of this!–Though not a finger stir
To succour me in my extremest need;
Though all free spirits in this land were dead,
And only slaves and tyrants left alive;
Yet for me, mother, I had liefer die
On native ground, than drag the tedious hours
Of a protected exile any more.
Hate, duty, interest, passion call one way;
Here stand I now, and the attempt shall be.