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Polyphontes

Thou standest out, I see, repellest peace.

Merope

Thy sword repell’d it long ago, not I.

Polyphontes

Doubtless thou reckonest on the help of friends.

Merope

Not help of men, although, perhaps, of Gods.

Polyphontes

What Gods? the Gods of concord, civil weal?

Merope

No! the avenging Gods, who punish crime.

Polyphontes

Beware! from thee upbraidings I receive
With pity, nay, with reverence; yet, beware!
I know, I know how hard it is to think
That right, that conscience pointed to a deed,
Where interest seems to have enjoin’d it too.
Most men are led by interest; and the few
Who are not, expiate the general sin,
Involved in one suspicion with the base.
Dizzy the path and perilous the way
Which in a deed like mine a just man treads,
But it is sometimes trodden, oh! believe it.
Yet how canst thou believe it? therefore thou
Hast all impunity. Yet, lest thy friends,
Embolden’d by my lenience, think it fear,
And count on like impunity, and rise,
And have to thank thee for a fall, beware!
To rule this kingdom I intend; with sway
Clement, if may be, but to rule it–there
Expect no wavering, no retreat, no change.
And now I leave thee to these rites, esteem’d
Pious, but impious, surely, if their scope
Be to foment old memories of wrath.
Pray, as thou pour’st libations on this tomb,
To be deliver’d from thy foster’d hate,
Unjust suspicion, and erroneous fear.

[POLYPHONTES goes into the palace. THE CHORUS
and MEROPE approach the tomb with their
offerings.

The Chorus

Draw, draw near to the tomb! strophe.
Lay honey-cakes on its marge,
Pour the libation of milk,
Deck it with garlands of flowers.
Tears fall thickly the while!
Behold, O King from the dark
House of the grave, what we do!

O Arcadian hills, antistrophe.
Send us the Youth whom ye hide,
Girt with his coat for the chase,
With the low broad hat of the tann’d
Hunter o’ershadowing his brow;
Grasping firm, in his hand
Advanced, two javelins, not now
Dangerous alone to the deer!

Merope

What shall I bear, O lost str. 1
Husband and King, to thy grave?–
Pure libations, and fresh
Flowers? But thou, in the gloom,
Discontented, perhaps,
Demandest vengeance, not grief?
Sternly requirest a man,
Light to spring up to thy house?

The Chorus

Vengeance, O Queen, is his due, str. 2
His most just prayer; yet his house–
If that might soothe him below–
Prosperous, mighty, came back
In the third generation, the way
Order’d by Fate, to their home;
And now, glorious, secure,
Fill the wealth-giving thrones
Of their heritage, Pelops’ isle.

Merope

Suffering sent them, Death ant. 1.
March’d with them, Hatred and Strife
Met them entering their halls.
For from the day when the first
Heracleidae received
That Delphic hest to return,
What hath involved them, but blind
Error on error, and blood?

The Chorus

Truly I hear of a Maid ant. 2.
Of that stock born, who bestow’d
Her blood that so she might make
Victory sure to her race,
When the fight hung in doubt! but she now,
Honour’d and sung of by all,
Far on Marathon plain,
Gives her name to the spring
Macaria, blessed Child.

Merope

She led the way of death. str. 3.
And the plain of Tegea,
And the grave of Orestes–
Where, in secret seclusion
Of his unreveal’d tomb,
Sleeps Agamemnon’s unhappy,
Matricidal, world-famed,
Seven-cubit-statured son–
Sent forth Echemus, the victor, the king,
By whose hand, at the Isthmus,
At the fate-denied straits,
Fell the eldest of the sons of Heracles,
Hyllus, the chief of his house.
Brother follow’d sister
The all-wept way.