Poetical Works of Matthew Arnold Part 54

_The Chorus._

So dies the last shoot of our royal tree!

Who shall tell Merope this heavy news?

_Polyphontes_

Stranger, this news thou bringest is too great For instant comment, having many sides Of import, and in silence best received, Whether it turn at last to joy or woe.

But thou, the zealous bearer, hast no part In what it hath of painful, whether now, First heard, or in its future issue shown.

Thou for thy labour hast deserved our best Refreshment, needed by thee, as I judge, With mountain-travel and night-watching spent.-- To the guest-chamber lead him, some one! give All entertainment which a traveller needs, And such as fits a royal house to show; To friends, still more, and labourers in our cause.

[Attendants _conduct_ aePYTUS _within the palace_.

_The Chorus_

The youth is gone within; alas! he bears A presence sad for some one through those doors.

_Polyphontes_

Admire then, maidens, how in one short hour The schemes, pursued in vain for twenty years, Are--by a stroke, though undesired, complete-- Crown'd with success, not in my way, but Heaven's!

This at a moment, too, when I had urged A last, long-cherish'd project, in my aim Of peace, and been repulsed with hate and scorn.

Fair terms of reconcilement, equal rule, I offer'd to my foes, and they refused; Worse terms than mine they have obtain'd from Heaven.

Dire is this blow for Merope; and I Wish'd, truly wish'd, solution to our broil Other than by this death; but it hath come!

I speak no word of boast, but this I say: A private loss here founds a nation's peace.

[POLYPHONTES _goes out_.

_The Chorus_

Peace, who tarriest too long; _str._ Peace, with delight in thy train; Come, come back to our prayer!

Then shall the revel again Visit our streets, and the sound Of the harp be heard with the pipe, When the flashing torches appear In the marriage-train coming on, With dancing maidens and boys-- While the matrons come to the doors, And the old men rise from their bench, When the youths bring home the bride.

Not condemn'd by my voice _ant._ He who restores thee shall be, Not unfavour'd by Heaven.

Surely no sinner the man, Dread though his acts, to whose hand Such a boon to bring hath been given.

Let her come, fair Peace! let her come!

But the demons long nourish'd here, Murder, Discord, and Hate, In the stormy desolate waves Of the Thracian Sea let her leave, Or the howling outermost main!

[MEROPE _comes forth_.

_Merope_

A whisper through the palace flies of one Arrived from Tegea with weighty news: And I came, thinking to find Arcas here.

Ye have not left this gate, which he must pa.s.s; Tell me--hath one not come? or, worse mischance, Come, but been intercepted by the King?

_The Chorus_

A messenger, sent from Arcadia here, Arrived, and of the King had speech but now.

_Merope_

Ah me! the wrong expectant got his news.

_The Chorus_

The message brought was for the King design'd.

_Merope_

How so? was Arcas not the messenger?

_The Chorus_

A younger man, and of a different name.

_Merope_

And what Arcadian news had he to tell?

_The Chorus_

Learn that from other lips, O Queen, than mine.

_Merope_

He kept his tale, then, for the King alone?

_The Chorus_

His tale was meeter for that ear than thine.

_Merope_

Why dost thou falter, and make half reply?

_The Chorus_

O thrice unhappy, how I groan thy fate!

_Merope_

Thou frightenest and confound'st me by thy words.

O were but Arcas come, all would be well?

_The Chorus_

If so, all's well: for look, the old man speeds Up from the city tow'rd this gated hill.

[ARCAS _comes in_.

_Merope_