Page:The poetical works of Matthew Arnold, 1897.djvu/375

Rh A tale, meanwhile, forged for his subjects' ears—

And me, henceforth sole rival with himself

In their allegiance, me, in my son's death-hour,

When all turn'd tow'rds me, me he would have shown

To my Messenians, duped, disarm'd, despised,

The willing sharer of his guilty rule,

All claim to succor forfeit, to myself

Hateful, by each Messenian heart abhorr'd.

His offers I repell'd—but what of that?

If with no rage, no fire of righteous hate,

Such as ere now hath spurr'd to fearful deeds

Weak women with a thousandth part my wrongs,

But calm, but unresentful, I endured

His offers, coldly heard them, cold repell'd?

How must men think me abject, void of heart,

While all this time I bear to linger on

In this blood-deluged palace, in whose halls

Either a vengeful Fury I should stalk,

Or else not live at all!—but here I haunt,

A pale, unmeaning ghost, powerless to fright

Or harm, and nurse my longing for my son,

A helpless one, I know it—but the Gods

Have temper'd me e'en thus, and, in some souls,

Misery, which rouses others, breaks the spring.

And even now, my son, ah me! my son,

Fain would I fade away, as I have lived,

Without a cry, a struggle, or a blow,

All vengeance unattempted, and descend

To the invisible plains, to roam with thee,

Fit denizen, the lampless under-world——

But with what eyes should I encounter there

My husband, wandering with his stern compeers,

Amphiaraos, or Mycenæ's king,

Who led the Greeks to Ilium, Agamemnon,