Thinking appeased
Gods unappeasable,
Lo, the ill-fated one,
Standing for harbor
Right at the harbor-mouth
Strikes with all sail set
Full on the sharp-pointed
Needle of ruin!
[A Messenger comes in.
MESSENGER.
O honor'd Queen, O faithful followers
Of your dead master's line, I bring you news
To make the gates of this long-mournful house
Leap, and fly open of themselves for joy!
[noise and shouting heard.
Hark how the shouting crowds tramp hitherward
With glad acclaim! Ere they forestall my news,
Accept it:—Polyphontes is no more.
MEROPE.
Is my son safe? that question bounds my care.
MESSENGER.
He is, and by the people hail'd for king.
MEROPE.
The rest to me is little; yet, since that
Must from some mouth be heard, relate it thou.
MESSENGER.
Not little, if thou saw'st what love, what zeal,
At thy dead husband's name the people show.
