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Merope

An avenger I ask not–send me my son! ant. 9.

The Chorus

O Queen, for an avenger to appear,
Thinking that so I pray’d aright, I pray’d;
If I pray’d wrongly, I revoke the prayer.

Merope

Forgive me, maidens, if I seem too slack
In calling vengeance on a murderer’s head.
Impious I deem the alliance which he asks,
Requite him words severe for seeming kind,
And righteous, if he falls, I count his fall.
With this, to those unbribed inquisitors
Who in man’s inmost bosom sit and judge,
The true avengers these, I leave his deed,
By him shown fair, but, I believe, most foul.
If these condemn him, let them pass his doom!
That doom obtain effect, from Gods or men!
So be it; yet will that more solace bring
To the chafed heart of Justice than to mine.
To hear another tumult in these streets,
To have another murder in these halls,
To see another mighty victim bleed–
Small comfort offers for a woman there!
A woman, O my friends, has one desire:
To see secure, to live with, those she loves.
Can vengeance give me back the murdered? no!
Can it bring home my child? Ah, if it can,
I pray the Furies’ ever-restless band,
And pray the Gods, and pray the all-seeing sun:
“Sun, who careerest through the height of Heaven,
When o’er the Arcadian forests thou art come,
And see’st my stripling hunter there afield,
Put tightness in thy gold-embossed rein,
And check thy fiery steeds, and, leaning back,
Throw him a pealing word of summons down,
To come, a late avenger, to the aid
Of this poor soul who bare him, and his sire.”
If this will bring him back, be this my prayer!
But Vengeance travels in a dangerous way,
Double of issue, full of pits and snares
For all who pass, pursuers and pursued–
That way is dubious for a mother’s prayer.
Rather on thee I call, Husband beloved–
May Hermes, herald of the dead, convey
My words below to thee, and make thee hear–
Bring back our son! if may be, without blood!
Install him in thy throne, still without blood!
Grant him to reign there wise and just like thee,
More fortunate than thee, more fairly judged!
This for our son; and for myself I pray,
Soon, having once beheld him, to descend
Into the quiet gloom, where thou art now.
These words to thine indulgent ear, thy wife,
I send, and these libations pour the while.

[They make their offerings at the tomb. MEROPE
then turns to go towards the palace.

The Chorus

The dead hath now his offerings duly paid.
But whither go’st thou hence, O Queen, away?

Merope

To receive Arcas, who to-day should come,
Bringing me of my boy the annual news.

The Chorus

No certain news if like the rest it run.

Merope

Certain in this, that ’tis uncertain still.

The Chorus

What keeps him in Arcadia from return?

Merope

His grandsire and his uncles fear the risk.

The Chorus

Of what? it lies with them to make risk none.

Merope

Discovery of a visit made by stealth.

The Chorus

With arms then they should send him, not by stealth.

Merope

With arms they dare not, and by stealth they fear.

The Chorus

I doubt their caution little suits their ward.

Merope

The heart of youth I know; that most I fear.

The Chorus

I augur thou wilt hear some bold resolve.

Merope

I dare not wish it; but, at least, to hear
That my son still survives, in health, in bloom;
To hear that still he loves, still longs for, me,
Yet, with a light uncareworn spirit, turns
Quick from distressful thought, and floats in joy–
Thus much from Arcas, my old servant true,
Who saved him from these murderous halls a babe,
And since has fondly watch’d him night and day
Save for this annual charge, I hope to hear.
If this be all, I know not; but I know,
These many years I live for this alone.