Three brothers won the field, _ant._ 3. And to two did Destiny Give the thrones that they conquer'd. But the third, what delays him From his unattain'd crown?... Ah Pylades and Electra, Ever faithful, untired, Jealous, blood-exacting friends! 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 _str._ 4. Of the three Heracleidae. 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. _str._ 5. 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. _The Chorus_ There rose up a cry in the streets _ant._ 4. From the terrified people. From the altar of Zeus, from the crowd, came a wail. A blow, a blow was struck, and he fell, Sullying his garment with dark-streaming blood; While stood o'er him a Form-- Some Form _Merope_ Ah me.... Ah.... _The Chorus_ Of a dreadful Presence of fear. _Merope_ More piercing the second cry rang, _ant._ 5. Wail'd from the palace within, From the Children.... The Fury to them, Fresh from their father, draws near. Ah bloody axe! dizzy blows! In these ears, they thunder, they ring, These poor ears, still! and these eyes Night and day see them fall, Fiery phantoms of death, On the fair, curl'd heads of my sons. _The Chorus_ Not to thee only hath come _str._ 6. Sorrow, O Queen, of mankind. Had not Electra to haunt A palace defiled by a death unavenged, For years, in silence, devouring her heart? But her nursling, her hope, came at last. Thou, too, rearest in hope, Far 'mid Arcadian hills, Somewhere, for vengeance, a champion, a light. Soon, soon shall Zeus bring him home! Soon shall he dawn on this land! _Merope_ Him in secret, in tears, _str._ 7. Month after month, I await Vainly. For he, in the glens Of Lycaeus afar, A gladsome hunter of deer, Basks in his morning of youth, Spares not a thought to his home. _The Chorus_