Page:The poetical works of Matthew Arnold, 1897.djvu/343

Rh Do twenty years wear out, and see expire!

Shall they not wear one hatred out as well?

MEROPE.

Thou hast forgot, then, who I am who hear,

And who thou art who speakest to me? I

Am Merope, thy murder'd master's wife;

And thou art Polyphontes, first his friend,

And then ... his murderer. These offending tears

That murder moves; this breach that thou would'st close

Was by that murder open'd; that one child

(If still, indeed, he lives) whom thou would'st seat

Upon a throne not thine to give, is heir,

Because thou slew'st his brothers with their father.

Who can patch union here? What can there be

But everlasting horror 'twixt us two,

Gulfs of estranging blood? Across that chasm

Who can extend their hands?... Maidens, take back

These offerings home! our rites are spoil'd to-day.

POLYPHONTES.

Not so; let these Messenian maidens mark

The fear'd and blacken'd ruler of their race,

Albeit with lips unapt to self-excuse,

Blow off the spot of murder from his name.—

Murder!—but what is murder? When a wretch

For private gain or hatred takes a life,

We call it murder, crush him, brand his name.

But when, for some great public cause, an arm

Is, without love or hate, austerely raised

Against a power exempt from common checks,

Dangerous to all, to be but thus annull'd—