Admire then, maidens, how in one short hour The schemes, pursued in vain for twenty years, Are--by a stroke, though undesired, complete-- Crown'd with success, not in my way, but Heaven's! This at a moment, too, when I had urged A last, long-cherish'd project, in my aim Of peace, and been repulsed with hate and scorn. Fair terms of reconcilement, equal rule, I offer'd to my foes, and they refused; Worse terms than mine they have obtain'd from Heaven. Dire is this blow for Merope; and I Wish'd, truly wish'd, solution to our broil Other than by this death; but it hath come! I speak no word of boast, but this I say: A private loss here founds a nation's peace. [POLYPHONTES _goes out_. _The Chorus_ Peace, who tarriest too long; _str._ Peace, with delight in thy train; Come, come back to our prayer! Then shall the revel again Visit our streets, and the sound Of the harp be heard with the pipe, When the flashing torches appear In the marriage-train coming on, With dancing maidens and boys-- While the matrons come to the doors, And the old men rise from their bench, When the youths bring home the bride. Not condemn'd by my voice _ant._ He who restores thee shall be, Not unfavour'd by Heaven. Surely no sinner the man, Dread though his acts, to whose hand Such a boon to bring hath been given. Let her come, fair Peace! let her come! But the demons long nourish'd here, Murder, Discord, and Hate, In the stormy desolate waves Of the Thracian Sea let her leave, Or the howling outermost main! [MEROPE _comes forth_. _Merope_ A whisper through the palace flies of one Arrived from Tegea with weighty news: And I came, thinking to find Arcas here. Ye have not left this gate, which he must pass; Tell me--hath one not come? or, worse mischance, Come, but been intercepted by the King? _The Chorus_ A messenger, sent from Arcadia here, Arrived, and of the King had speech but now. _Merope_ Ah me! the wrong expectant got his news. _The Chorus_ The message brought was for the King design'd. _Merope_ How so? was Arcas not the messenger? _The Chorus_ A younger man, and of a different name. _Merope_ And what Arcadian news had he to tell? _The Chorus_ Learn that from other lips, O Queen, than mine. _Merope_ He kept his tale, then, for the King alone? _The Chorus_ His tale was meeter for that ear than thine. _Merope_ Why dost thou falter, and make half reply? _The Chorus_ O thrice unhappy, how I groan thy fate! _Merope_ Thou frightenest and confound'st me by thy words. O were but Arcas come, all would be well? _The Chorus_