Poetry

claim thy master’s thanks and gold.⁠—
Wake up in hell from thine unhallow’d sleep,
Thou smiling Fiend, and claim thy guerdon there!
Wake amid gloom, and howling, and the noise
Of sinners pinion’d on the torturing wheel,
And the stanch Furies’ never-silent scourge.
And bid the chief-tormentors there provide
For a grand culprit shortly coming down.
Go thou the first, and usher in thy lord!
A more just stroke than that thou gav’st my son
Take⁠—Merope advances towards the sleeping Aepytus, with the axe uplifted. At the same moment Arcas re-enters. Arcas

To the Chorus.

Not with him to council did the King
Carry his messenger, but left him here.

Sees Merope and Aepytus. O Gods!⁠ ⁠… Merope Foolish old man, thou spoil’st my blow! Arcas What do I see?⁠ ⁠… Merope

A murderer at death’s door.
Therefore no words!

Arcas A murderer?⁠ ⁠… Merope

And a captive
To the dear next-of-kin of him he murder’d.
Stand, and let vengeance pass!

Arcas

Hold, O Queen, hold!
Thou know’st not whom thou strik’st.⁠ ⁠…

Merope I know his crime. Arcas Unhappy one! thou strik’st⁠— Merope A most just blow. Arcas No, by the Gods, thou slay’st⁠— Merope Stand off! Arcas Thy son! Merope Ah!⁠ ⁠… She lets the axe drop, and falls insensible. Aepytus

Awaking.

Who are these? What shrill, ear-piercing scream
Wakes me thus kindly from the perilous sleep
Wherewith fatigue and youth had bound mine eyes,
Even in the deadly palace of my foe?⁠—
Arcas! Thou here?

Arcas

Embracing him.

O my dear master! O
My child, my charge belov’d, welcome to life!
As dead we held thee, mourn’d for thee as dead.

Aepytus

In word I died, that I in deed might live.
But who are these?

Arcas Messenian maidens, friends. Aepytus And, Arcas!⁠—but I tremble! Arcas Boldly ask. Aepytus That black-rob’d, swooning figure?⁠ ⁠… Arcas Merope. Aepytus O mother! mother! Merope Who upbraids me? Ah!⁠ ⁠… Seeing the axe. Aepytus Upbraids thee? no one. Merope Thou dost well: but take⁠ ⁠… Aepytus What wav’st thou off? Merope That murderous axe away! Aepytus Thy son is here. Merope One said so, sure, but now. Aepytus Here, here thou hast him! Merope Slaughter’d by this hand!⁠ ⁠… Aepytus No, by the Gods, alive and like to live! Merope What, thou?⁠—I dream⁠— Aepytus May’st thou dream ever so! Merope

Advancing towards him.

My child? unhurt?⁠ ⁠…

Aepytus Only by over joy. Merope Art thou, then, come?⁠ ⁠… Aepytus Never to part again. They fall into one another’s arms. Then Merope, holding Aepytus by the hand, turns to The Chorus. Merope

O kind Messenian maidens, O my friends,
Bear witness, see, mark well, on what a head
My first stroke of revenge had nearly fallen!

The Chorus

We see, dear mistress: and we say, the Gods,
As hitherto they kept him, keep him now.

Merope

Strophe

O my son!
I have, I have thee⁠ ⁠… the years
Fly back, my child! and thou seem’st
Ne’er to have gone from these eyes,
Never been torn from this breast.

Aepytus

Mother, my heart runs over: but the time
Presses me, chides me, will not let me weep.

Merope Fearest thou now? Aepytus I fear not, but I think on my design. Merope

At the undried fount of this breast,
A babe, thou smilest again.
Thy brothers play at my feet,
Early-slain innocents! near,
Thy kind-speaking father stands.

Aepytus Remember, to revenge his death I come! Merope

Antistrophe

Ah⁠ ⁠… revenge!
That word! it kills me! I see
Once more roll back on my house,
Never to ebb, the accurs’d
All-flooding ocean of blood.

Aepytus

Mother, sometimes the justice of the Gods
Appoints the way to peace through shedding blood.

Merope Sorrowful peace! Aepytus And yet the only peace to us allow’d. Merope

From the first-wrought vengeance is born
A long succession of crimes.
Fresh blood flows, calling for blood:
Fathers, sons, grandsons, are all
One death-dealing vengeful train.

Aepytus

Mother, thy fears are idle: for I come
To close an old wound, not to open new.
In all else willing to be taught, in this
Instruct me not; I have my lesson clear.⁠—
Arcas, seek out my uncle Laias, now
Conferring in the city with our friends;
Here bring him, ere the king come back from council:
That, how to accomplish what the Gods enjoin,
And the slow-ripening time at last prepares,
We two with thee, my mother, may consult:
For whose help dare I count on if not thine?

Merope Approves my brother Laias this design? Aepytus Yes, and alone is with me here to share. Merope

And what of thine Arcadian mate, who bears
Suspicion from thy grandsire of thy death,
For whom, as I suppose, thou passest here?

Aepytus

Sworn to our plot he is: but, that surmise
Fix’d him the author of my death, I knew not.

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 belovèd 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 tools of war,
Good to obey, without a leader naught.
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