h me the sacrifice-axe!----

[THE CHORUS _goes towards the tomb of_ CRESPHONTES,
_and their leader brings back the axe._

O Husband, O clothed
With the grave's everlasting,
All-covering darkness! O King,
Well-mourn'd, but ill-avenged!
Approv'st thou thy wife now?----
The axe!--who brings it?

_The Chorus_

'Tis here!
But thy gesture, thy look,
Appals me, shakes me with awe.

_Merope_

Thrust back now the bolt of that door!

_The Chorus_

Alas! alas!--
Behold the fastenings withdrawn
Of the guest-chamber door!--
Ah! I beseech thee--with tears----

_Merope_

Throw the door open!

_The Chorus_

'Tis done!...

[_The door of the house is thrown open: the interior
of the guest-chamber is discovered, with_ AEPYTUS
_asleep on a couch._

_Merope_

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 sinn