Page:The poetical works of Matthew Arnold, 1897.djvu/383

Rh Wake amid gloom, and howling, and the noise

Of sinners pinion'd on the torturing wheel,

And the stanch Furies' never-silent scourge.

And bid the chief tormentors there provide

For a grand culprit shortly coming down.

Go thou the first, and usher in thy lord!

A more just stroke than that thou gav'st my son

Take ——

ARCAS (to THE CHORUS).

Not with him to council did the King

Carry his messenger, but left him here.

O Gods!...

MEROPE.

Foolish old man, thou spoil'st my blow!

ARCAS.

What do I see?...

MEROPE.

A murderer at death's door.

Therefore no words!

ARCAS.

A murderer?...

MEROPE.

And a captive

To the dear next-of-kin of him he murder'd.

Stand, and let vengeance pass!