Page:The poetical works of Matthew Arnold, 1897.djvu/382

344 MEROPE.

He sleeps—sleeps calm. O ye all-seeing Gods!

Thus peacefully do ye let sinners sleep,

While troubled innocents toss, and lie awake?

What sweeter sleep than this could I desire

For thee, my child, if thou wert yet alive?

How often have I dream'd of thee like this,

With thy soil'd hunting-coat, and sandals torn,

Asleep in the Arcadian glens at noon,

Thy head droop'd softly, and the golden curls

Clustering o'er thy white forehead, like a girl's;

The short proud lip showing thy race, thy cheeks

Brown'd with thine open-air, free, hunter's life.

Ah me!

And where dost thou sleep now, my innocent boy?—

In some dark fir-tree's shadow, amid rocks

Untrodden, on Cyllenê's desolate side;

Where travellers never pass, where only come

Wild beasts, and vultures sailing overhead.

There, there thou liest now, my hapless child!

Stretch'd among briers and stones, the slow, black gore

Oozing through thy soak'd hunting-shirt, with limbs

Yet stark from the death-struggle, tight-clench'd hands,

And eyeballs staring for revenge in vain.

Ah miserable!

And thou, thou fair-skinn'd Serpent! thou art laid

In a rich chamber, on a happy bed,

In a king's house, thy victim's heritage;

And drink'st untroubled slumber, to sleep off

The toils of thy foul service, till thou wake

Refresh'd, and claim thy master's thanks and gold.—

Wake up in hell from thine unhallow'd sleep,

Thou smiling Fiend, and claim thy guerdon there!