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The Chorus

Yes; but his seed still, wiser-counsell’d,
Sail’d by the fate-meant Gulf to their conquest–
Slew their enemies’ king, Tisamenus.
Wherefore accept that happier omen!
Yet shall restorer appear to the race.

Merope

Three brothers won the field, ant. 3.
And to two did Destiny
Give the thrones that they conquer’d.
But the third, what delays him
From his unattain’d crown?…
Ah Pylades and Electra,
Ever faithful, untired,
Jealous, blood-exacting friends!
Your sons leap upon the foe of your kin,
In the passes of Delphi,
In the temple-built gorge!
There the youngest of the band of conquerors
Perish’d, in sight of the goal.
Thrice son follow’d sire
The all-wept way.

The Chorus

Thou tellest the fate of the last str. 4.
Of the three Heracleidae.
Not of him, of Cresphontes thou shared’st the lot!
A king, a king was he while he lived,
Swaying the sceptre with predestined hand;
And now, minister loved,
Holds rule.

Merope

Ah me … Ah….

The Chorus

For the awful Monarchs below.

Merope

Thou touchest the worst of my ills. str. 5.
Oh had he fallen of old
At the Isthmus, in fight with his foes,
By Achaian, Arcadian spear!
Then had his sepulchre risen
On the high sea-bank, in the sight
Of either Gulf, and remain’d
All-regarded afar,
Noble memorial of worth
Of a valiant Chief, to his own.

The Chorus

There rose up a cry in the streets ant. 4.
From the terrified people.
From the altar of Zeus, from the crowd, came a wail.
A blow, a blow was struck, and he fell,
Sullying his garment with dark-streaming blood;
While stood o’er him a Form–
Some Form

Merope

Ah me…. Ah….

The Chorus

Of a dreadful Presence of fear.

Merope

More piercing the second cry rang, ant. 5.
Wail’d from the palace within,
From the Children…. The Fury to them,
Fresh from their father, draws near.
Ah bloody axe! dizzy blows!
In these ears, they thunder, they ring,
These poor ears, still! and these eyes
Night and day see them fall,
Fiery phantoms of death,
On the fair, curl’d heads of my sons.

The Chorus

Not to thee only hath come str. 6.
Sorrow, O Queen, of mankind.
Had not Electra to haunt
A palace defiled by a death unavenged,
For years, in silence, devouring her heart?
But her nursling, her hope, came at last.
Thou, too, rearest in hope,
Far ‘mid Arcadian hills,
Somewhere, for vengeance, a champion, a light.
Soon, soon shall Zeus bring him home!
Soon shall he dawn on this land!

Merope

Him in secret, in tears, str. 7.
Month after month, I await
Vainly. For he, in the glens
Of Lycaeus afar,
A gladsome hunter of deer,
Basks in his morning of youth,
Spares not a thought to his home.

The Chorus

Give not thy heart to despair. ant. 6.
No lamentation can loose
Prisoners of death from the grave;
But Zeus, who accounteth thy quarrel his own,
Still rules, still watches, and numb’reth the hours
Till the sinner, the vengeance, be ripe.
Still, by Acheron stream,
Terrible Deities throned
Sit, and eye grimly the victim unscourged.
Still, still the Dorian boy,
Exiled, remembers his home.

Merope

Him if high-ruling Zeus ant. 7.
Bring to me safe, let the rest
Go as it will! But if this
Clash with justice, the Gods
Forgive my folly, and work
Vengeance on sinner and sin–
Only to me give my child!

The Chorus

Hear us and help us, Shade of our King! str. 8.

Merope

A return, O Father! give to thy boy! str. 9.

The Chorus

Send an avenger, Gods of the dead! ant. 8.