Page:The poetical works of Matthew Arnold, 1897.djvu/400

362 THE CHORUS.

Which way to lean I know not: bloody strokes

Are never free from doubt, though sometimes due.

LAIAS.

O Merope, the common heart of man

Agrees to deem some deeds so dark in guilt,

That neither gratitude, nor tie of race,

Womanly pity, nor maternal fear,

Nor any pleader else, shall be indulged

To breathe a syllable to bar revenge.

All this, no doubt, thou to thyself hast urged—

Time presses, so that theme forbear I now;

Direct to thy dissuasions I reply.

Blood-founded thrones, thou say'st, are insecure;

Our father's kingdom, because pure, is safe.

True; but what cause to our Arcadia gives

Its privileged immunity from blood,

But that, since first the black and fruitful Earth

In the primeval mountain-forests bore

Pelasgus, our forefather and mankind's,

Legitimately sire to son, with us,

Bequeaths the allegiance of our shepherd-tribes,

More loyal, as our line continues more?—

How can your Heracleidan chiefs inspire

This awe which guards our earth-sprung, lineal kings?

What permanence, what stability like ours,

Whether blood flows or no, can yet invest

The broken order of your Dorian thrones,

Fix'd yesterday, and ten times changed since then?—

Two brothers, and their orphan nephews, strove

For the three conquer'd kingdoms of this isle;

The eldest, mightiest brother, Temenus, took