Poetical Works of Matthew Arnold Part 52

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 pa.s.s his doom!

That doom obtain effect, from G.o.ds 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 G.o.ds, 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 pa.s.s, 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.

[MEROPE _goes in_.

_The Chorus_

Much is there which the sea _str._ 1.

Conceals from man, who cannot plumb its depths.

Air to his unwing'd form denies a way, And keeps its liquid solitudes unscaled.

Even earth, whereon he treads, So feeble is his march, so slow, Holds countless tracts untrod.

But more than all unplumb'd, _ant._ 1.

Unscaled, untrodden, is the heart of man.

More than all secrets hid, the way it keeps.

Nor any of our organs so obtuse, Inaccurate, and frail, As those wherewith we try to test Feelings and motives there.

Yea, and not only have we not explored _str._ 2.

That wide and various world, the heart of others, But even our own heart, that narrow world Bounded in our own breast, we hardly know, Of our own actions dimly trace the causes.

Whether a natural obscureness, hiding That region in perpetual cloud, Or our own want of effort, be the bar.

Therefore--while acts are from their motives judged, _ant._ 2.

And to one act many most unlike motives, This pure, that guilty, may have each impell'd-- Power fails us to try clearly if that cause a.s.sign'd us by the actor be the true one; Power fails the man himself to fix distinctly The cause which drew him to his deed, And stamp himself, thereafter, bad or good.

_The most are bad_, wise men have said. _str._ 3.

_Let the best rule_, they say again.

The best, then, to dominion hath the right.