He sleeps--sleeps calm. O ye all-seeing Gods! Thus peacefully do ye let sinners sleep, While troubled innocents toss, and lie awake? What sweeter sleep than this could I desire For thee, my child, if thou wert yet alive? How often have I dream'd of thee like this, With thy soil'd hunting-coat, and sandals torn, Asleep in the Arcadian glens at noon, Thy head droop'd softly, and the golden curls Clustering o'er thy white forehead, like a girl's; The short proud lip showing thy race, thy cheeks Brown'd with thine open-air, free, hunter's life. Ah me! And where dost thou sleep now, my innocent boy?-- In some dark fir-tree's shadow, amid rocks Untrodden, on Cyllene's desolate side; Where travellers never pass, where only come Wild beasts, and vultures sailing overhead. There, there thou liest now, my hapless child! Stretch'd among briars and stones, the slow, black gore Oozing through thy soak'd hunting-shirt, with limbs Yet stark from the death-struggle, tight-clench'd hands, And eyeballs staring for revenge in vain. Ah miserable! And thou, thou fair-skinn'd Serpent! thou art laid In a rich chamber, on a happy bed, In a king's house, thy victim's heritage; And drink'st untroubled slumber, to sleep off The toils of thy foul service, till thou wake Refresh'd, and claim thy master's thanks and gold.-- Wake up in hell from thine unhallow'd sleep, Thou smiling Fiend, and claim thy guerdon there! 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---- [MEROPE _advances towards the sleeping_ AEPYTUS, _with the axe uplifted. At the same moment_ ARCAS _re-enters._ _Arcas_ (_to the Chorus_) Not with him to council did the King Carry his messenger, but left him here. [_Sees_ MEROPE _and_ AEpytus. 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! _Arcas_ Hold, O Queen, hold! Thou know'st not whom thou strik'st.... _Merope_ I know his crime. _Arcas_ Unhappy one! thou strik'st---- _Merope_ A most just blow. _Arcas_ No, by the Gods, thou slay'st---- _Merope_ Stand off! _Arcas_