Give not thy heart to despair. _ant._ 6. No lamentation can loose Prisoners of death from the grave; But Zeus, who accounteth thy quarrel his own, Still rules, still watches, and numb'reth the hours Till the sinner, the vengeance, be ripe. Still, by Acheron stream, Terrible Deities throned Sit, and eye grimly the victim unscourged. Still, still the Dorian boy, Exiled, remembers his home. _Merope_ Him if high-ruling Zeus _ant._ 7. Bring to me safe, let the rest Go as it will! But if this Clash with justice, the Gods Forgive my folly, and work Vengeance on sinner and sin-- Only to me give my child! _The Chorus_ Hear us and help us, Shade of our King! _str._ 8. _Merope_ A return, O Father! give to thy boy! _str._ 9. _The Chorus_ Send an avenger, Gods of the dead! _ant._ 8. _Merope_ An avenger I ask not--send me my son! _ant._ 9. _The Chorus_ O Queen, for an avenger to appear, Thinking that so I pray'd aright, I pray'd; If I pray'd wrongly, I revoke the prayer. _Merope_ Forgive me, maidens, if I seem too slack In calling vengeance on a murderer's head. Impious I deem the alliance which he asks, Requite him words severe for seeming kind, And righteous, if he falls, I count his fall. With this, to those unbribed inquisitors Who in man's inmost bosom sit and judge, The true avengers these, I leave his deed, By him shown fair, but, I believe, most foul. If these condemn him, let them pass his doom! That doom obtain effect, from Gods or men! So be it; yet will that more solace bring To the chafed heart of Justice than to mine. To hear another tumult in these streets, To have another murder in these halls, To see another mighty victim bleed-- Small comfort offers for a woman there! A woman, O my friends, has one desire: To see secure, to live with, those she loves. Can vengeance give me back the murdered? no! Can it bring home my child? Ah, if it can, I pray the Furies' ever-restless band, And pray the Gods, and pray the all-seeing sun: "Sun, who careerest through the height of Heaven, When o'er the Arcadian forests thou art come, And see'st my stripling hunter there afield, Put tightness in thy gold-embossed rein, And check thy fiery steeds, and, leaning back, Throw him a pealing word of summons down, To come, a late avenger, to the aid Of this poor soul who bare him, and his sire." If this will bring him back, be this my prayer! But Vengeance travels in a dangerous way, Double of issue, full of pits and snares For all who pass, pursuers and pursued-- That way is dubious for a mother's prayer. Rather on thee I call, Husband beloved-- May Hermes, herald of the dead, convey