University of Virginia Library

SCENE THE SECOND.

Merope, Polydore.
Pol.
Oh queen!

Me.
Who in this place can thus address me? ...
Who art thou, good old man? What do I see? ...
Art thou? ... Do I mistake not? ... Polydore?

Pol.
Yes ...

Me.
Speak: my son ... Bringest thou life, or death?

Pol.
At length again I see thy face ... At length
I print a kiss upon thy sacred hand.

Me.
Tell me ... My son ...

Pol.
Oh heaven! ...—Can I speak here?

Me.
Thou may'st speak now; we are unseen by any;
I am accustomed, ere the dawn, to go
Each morning, unattended, to weep there,
Upon the tomb of my adored Cresphontes.

Pol.
Oh tomb, of the most excellent of kings!
Ah! that I there might on it breathe my last!

Me.
Be quick, and tell me ... Thou dost make me tremble ...
Wherefore delay? Wherefore return so sad?
Say, hast thou found him? Hast thou traced his steps?
Speak: 'tis now six months, since thou quitted'st Elis;
Now is the year fulfilled, whose every day
Has seemed a day of death.

Pol.
Unhappy me!
Think what is my distress ... Thou never then
Has heard of him?

Me.
Ah no! ... But thou? ...

Pol.
The half
Of Greece I've traversed; love, hope, strong desire,
Gave a new strength to my exhausted age:
I visited Olympia, Cyllene,
Corinth, and Lacedæmon, Pylus, Argos,
With many other cities, nor gained once
Intelligence of him: his ardent youth,
And his adventurous spirit, who can tell
How far they may have carried him?—Ah, son! ...
The wish in thee was evermore too strong
To travel, and to learn: oh worthy offspring
Of mighty Hercules, my scanty hut
Contained thee not. Though thou wert utterly
Unconscious of thy birth, each look of thine,
Each thought betrayed thee ...

Me.
When I hear thee speak,
What various impulses I prove at once!
Ah! where, where art thou, son? ... Thou flatterest not?
He grew up worthy of his ancestors?

Pol.
Worthy? ... Oh heaven! A temper more sincere,
More noble, modest, and magnanimous,
I never saw: and so well formed in person;
In temperament so vigorous; in mien
So masculine; and so humane in heart:—
What was there not in thee? Sole solace thou
Of my old age; my ancient consort lived
In thee; in thee alone I also lived:
Far more to us, than son ... Ah! among us
Had he been seen by thee! ... As if in heart
He felt his lofty birth, with gentle sway
He ruled us at his will: but evermore
That will was just and generous. Ah, my son;
The involuntary tears gush from my eyes
Whene'er I think of thee.

Me.
With joy and grief
And thou too makest me to weep at once.
Oh heaven! ... and when shall I see thee again?
Oh when? ... Ah, son, am I then doomed to know
Thy many precious qualities, while now
I cannot know whither thou wanderest!

Pol.
What was my suffering never to be able
To give thee further tidings of his fate
Than that he lived! But confidence was here
Most perilous: scarcely dared I dispatch
The covenanted token to inform thee
That he had left me, and that afterwards
I sought to trace his footsteps.

Me.
Fatal token!
Ah! hadst thou never reached me! ... From that day
I have had peace no more ... What do I say? ...
Peace? ... Ah! thou knowest not ... Tremendous fears,
Doubts, apprehensions, and false dreams, or true,
By thousands and by thousands shake my soul.
No more in quiet sleep I close my eyes:
But if, o'ercome by weariness, perforce
The lapsed powers of nature briefly drowse,
E'en more than joyless vigils, frightful dreams
Exhaust what little of my strength remains.
Now I behold him as a mendicant
Wandering alone, unused to cope with toils,
The victim of an unpropitious fate;
Clad in a squalid garb, the laughing-stock
Of arrogant prosperity, debased
By infamous repulses ... wretched me! ...
Now I behold him on the brink of death,
'Mid bellowing billows of the vexed sea:
Now hand and feet with servile fetters laden;
And now assaulted, mangled, massacred,
By fierce assassins ... My torn heart, oh heavens!
At every instant throbs; and when by chance
I hear of men unknown, who have endured
The outrages of fortune, I reflect,
That each of these may be my son, and tremble.
Suspicion working in my sickened heart
Swells into credence, and I freeze with terror:
And from the thraldom of one agony
I cannot rouse my apprehensive spirit,
Until a more tremendous one assails me.—
Could'st thou believe it? Yesterday a youth
That in a private quarrel lifeless fell
Upon the river's bank, and afterwards
Was, from the fear of him that wrought the deed,
Into the river cast, my spirits troubled;
And still does trouble them. He was stranger ...

Pol.
Slain? ... Yesterday? ... A stranger? ... By the stream? ...
Oh heavens!

Me.
But what! thou tremblest? Speak to me.
My fears perchance were true? ... Alas! ... thou weepest? ...
Thou waxest pale? ... And scarcely canst thou stand? ...

Pol.
—Alas! What should I do? what say to her?

Me.
Thou mutterest? Speak to me.—What are thy thoughts?
What know'st thou? What dost fear? I would hear all:
Ah! rescue me from doubt; ...

Pol.
I cannot speak;
Both power and utterance fail me ...

Me.
I'm o'erwhelmed ...
All courage now to question thee is fled ...
But yet I will; I will know e'en the worst.
Why should I longer languish on in life,
If I have ceased to be a mother? Speak;
Thou know'st it all; the victim ...

Pol.
I know nothing ...

Me.
Speak; I command thee.

Pol.
Dost thou know this girdle? ...

Me.
Oh sight! With fresh blood it is reeking yet? ...
Oh heaven! It is the girdle of Cresphontes ...
I understand ... I ... faint ...

Pol.
At dawn of day,
Erewhile I found it on the river's bank,
Swimming in blood: some one was slain there; ah!
There is no doubt; it was thy son.

Me.
What death? ...
Oh cruel destiny! ... And I yet live? ...
But thou, thus didst thou keep a pledge so sacred?
Infatuate that I was! in whom have I
Reposed my hopes, my life? Shouldest thou not
Have stood inseparably at his side?
What weapon should have murdered him, that first
Had not cut short thy long and useless life?
Say hast thou served me thus? And thus loved him?
But, ah! thou weepest? And repliest not?
Yes, 'tis the blow of destiny alone:
Ah! pardon me, I am a mother ... No,
A mother now no more! ... To die ...

Pol.
Ah me!
I merit all thy anger ... Yet heaven knows
That faultless ...

Me.
Ah! my heart forewarned me of it ...
In that disastrous night when in thy arms
I placed him ... Thou wilt never see him more ...
With his infantine hands, so eagerly
He clasped my neck; oh heaven, it seemed that then
He knew our separation was eternal.—
Where are ye fled, ye fifteen years dragged on
In tears, in fruitless hope, and racking fear?
So many, and so many woes endured,
The odious sight of Polyphontes borne,
That I at last should lose my all at once?
And in what manner! ... And before my eyes! ...
By ruffian hands ... deprived of sepulture ...
Oh son, dear son, at least thy bloodless corse
Should have been given to me! I might at least,
Embalming it with tears, and clasping it,
Have died upon it.

Pol.
And I, ... of fifteen years paternal care,
Thus to behold myself despoiled? Alas!
I come to pierce thy heart ... And yet, ... could I
Hide it from thee?

Me.
To die; nought else remains ...