Page:The poetical works of Matthew Arnold, 1897.djvu/353

Rh Your sons leap upon the foe of your kin,

In the passes of Delphi,

In the temple-built gorge!

There the youngest of the band of conquerors

Perish'd, in sight of the goal.

Thrice son follow'd sire

The all-wept way.

THE CHORUS.

Thou tellest the fate of the last

Of the three Heracleidæ.

Not of him, of Cresphontes thou shared'st the lot!

A king, a king was he while he lived,

Swaying the sceptre with predestined hand;

And now, minister loved,

Holds rule.

MEROPE. Ah me... Ah...

THE CHORUS.

For the awful Monarchs below.

MEROPE.

Thou touchest the worst of my ills.

Oh had he fallen of old

At the Isthmus, in fight with his foes,

By Achaian, Arcadian spear!

Then had his sepulchre risen

On the high sea-bank, in the sight

Of either Gulf, and remain'd

All-regarded afar,

Noble memorial of worth

Of a valiant Chief, to his own.