{"collection":"Classics","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/browse/cla/aesch/persia.htm","path":"cla/aesch/persia.htm","source_url":"https://sacred-texts.com/cla/aesch/persia.htm","text":"Dramatis Personae\nATOSSA, widow of Darius and mother of XERXES\nMESSENGER\nGHOST OF DARIUS\nXERXES\nCHORUS OF PERSIAN ELDERS, who compose the Persian Council of\nState\nBefore the Council-Hall of the Persian Kings at Susa. The tomb of\nDarius the Great is visible. The time is 480 B.C., shortly after the\nbattle of Salamis. The play opens with the CHORUS OF PERSIAN ELDERS\nsinging its first choral lyric.\nCHORUS While o'er the fields of Greece the embattled troops\nOf Persia march with delegated sway,\nWe o'er their rich and gold-abounding seats\nHold faithful our firm guard; to this high charge\nXerxes, our royal lord, the imperial son\nOf great Darius, chose our honour'd age.\nBut for the king's return, and his arm'd host\nBlazing with gold, my soul presaging ill\nSwells in my tortured breast: for all her force\nHath Asia sent, and for her youth I sigh.\nNor messenger arrives, nor horseman spurs\nWith tidings to this seat of Persia's kings.\nThe gates of Susa and Ecbatana\nPour'd forth their martial trains; and Cissia sees\nHer ancient towers forsaken, while her youth,\nSome on the bounding steed, the tall bark some\nAscending, some with painful march on foot,\nHaste on, to arrange the deep'ning files of war.\nAmistres, Artaphernes, and the might\nOf great Astaspes, Megabazes bold,\nChieftains of Persia, kings, that, to the power\nOf the great king obedient, march with these\nLeading their martial thousands; their proud steeds\nPrance under them; steel bows and shafts their arms,\nDreadful to see, and terrible in fight,\nDeliberate valour breathing in their souls.\nArtembares, that in his fiery horse\nDelights; Masistress; and Imaeus bold,\nBending with manly strength his stubborn bow;\nPharandaces, and Sosthanes, that drives\nWith military pomp his rapid steeds.\nOthers the vast prolific Nile hath sent;\nPegastagon, that from Aegyptus draws\nHis high birth; Susiscanes; and the chief\nThat reigns o'er sacred Memphis, great Arsames;\nAnd Ariomardus, that o'er ancient Thebes\nBears the supreme dominion; and with these,\nDrawn from their watery marshes, numbers train'd\nTo the stout oar. Next these the Lycian troops,\nSoft sons of luxury; and those that dwell\nAmid the inland forests, from the sea\nFar distant; these Metragathes commands,\nAnd virtuous Arceus, royal chiefs, that shine\nIn burnish'd gold, and many a whirling car\nDrawn by six generous steeds from Sardis lead,\nA glorious and a dreadful spectacle.\nAnd from the foot of Tmolus, sacred mount,\nEager to bind on Greece the servile yoke,\nMardon and Tharybis the massy spear\nGrasp with unwearied vigour; the light lance\nThe Mysians shake. A mingled multitude\nSwept from her wide dominions skill'd to draw\nThe unerring bow, in ships Euphrates sends\nFrom golden Babylon. With falchions arm'd\nFrom all the extent of Asia move the hosts\nObedient to their monarch's stern command.\nThus march'd the flower of Persia, whose loved youth\nThe world of Asia nourish'd, and with sighs\nLaments their absence; many an anxious look\nTheir wives, their parents send, count the slow days,\nAnd tremble at the long-protracted time.\n(strophe 1)\nAlready o'er the adverse strand\nIn arms the monarch's martial squadrons spread;\nThe threat'ning ruin shakes the land,\nAnd each tall city bows its tower'd head.\nBark bound to bark, their wondrous way\nThey bridge across the indignant sea;\nThe narrow Hellespont's vex'd waves disdain,\nHis proud neck taught to wear the chain.\nNow has the peopled Asia's warlike lord,\nBy land, by sea, with foot, with horse,\nResistless in his rapid course,\nO'er all their realms his warring thousands pour'd;\nNow his intrepid chiefs surveys,\nAnd glitt'ring like a god his radiant state displays.\n(antistrophe 1)\nFierce as the dragon scaled in gold\nThrough the deep files he darts his glowing eye;\nAnd pleased their order to behold,\nHis gorgeous standard blazing to the sky,\nRolls onward his Assyrian car,\nDirects the thunder of the war,\nBids the wing'd arrows' iron storm advance\nAgainst the slow and cumbrous lance.\nWhat shall withstand the torrent of his sway\nWhen dreadful o'er the yielding shores\nThe impetuous tide of battle roars,\nAnd sweeps the weak opposing mounds away?\nSo Persia, with resistless might,\nRolls her unnumber'd hosts of heroes to the fight.\n(strophe 2)\nFor when misfortune's fraudful hand\nPrepares to pour the vengeance of the sky,\nWhat mortal shall her force withstand?\nWhat rapid speed the impending fury fly?\nGentle at first with flatt'ring smiles\nShe spreads her soft enchanting wiles,\nSo to her toils allures her destined prey,\nWhence man ne'er breaks unhurt away.\nFor thus from ancient times the Fates ordain\nThat Persia's sons should greatly dare,\nUnequall'd in the works of war;\nShake with their thund'ring steeds the ensanguined plain,\nDreadful the hostile walls surround,\nAnd lay their rampired towers in ruins on the ground.\n(antistrophe 2)\nTaught to behold with fearless eyes\nThe whitening billows foam beneath the gale,\nThey bid the naval forests rise,\nMount the slight bark, unfurl the flying sail,\nAnd o'er the angry ocean bear\nTo distant realms the storm of war.\nFor this with many a sad and gloomy thought\nMy tortured breast is fraught:\nAh me! for Persia's absent sons I sigh;\nFor while in foreign fields they fight,\nOur towns exposed to wild affright\nAn easy prey to the invader lie:\nWhere, mighty Susa, where thy powers,\nTo wield the warrior's arms, and guard thy regal towers?\n(epode)\nCrush'd beneath the assailing foe\nHer golden head must Cissia bend;\nWhile her pale virgins, frantic with despair,\nThrough all her streets awake the voice of wo;\nAnd flying with their bosoms bare,\nTheir purfled stoles in anguish rend:\nFor all her youth in martial pride,\nLike bees that, clust'ring round their king,\nTheir dark imbodied squadrons bring,\nAttend their sceptred monarch's side,\nAnd stretch across the watery way\nFrom shore to shore their long array.\nThe Persian dames, with many a tender fear,\nIn grief's sad vigils keep the midnight hour;\nShed on the widow'd couch the streaming tear,\nAnd the long absence of their loves deplore.\nEach lonely matron feels her pensive breast\nThrob with desire, with aching fondness glow,\nSince in bright arms her daring warrior dress'd\nLeft her to languish in her love-lorn wo.\nNow, ye grave Persians, that your honour'd seats\nHold in this ancient house, with prudent care\nAnd deep deliberation, so the state\nRequires, consult we, pond'ring the event\nOf this great war, which our imperial lord,\nThe mighty Xerxes from Darius sprung,\nThe stream of whose rich blood flows in our veins,\nLeads against Greece; whether his arrowy shower\nShot from the strong-braced bow, or the huge spear\nHigh brandish'd, in the deathful field prevails.\nBut see, the monarch's mother: like the gods\nHer lustre blazes on our eyes: my queen,\nProstrate I fall before her: all advance\nWith reverence, and in duteous phrase address her, (ATOSSA enters\nwith her retinue. The Elders do their obeisance to her.)\nLEADER OF THE CHORUS Hail, queen, of Persia's high-zoned dames supreme,\nAge-honour'd mother of the potent Xerxes,\nImperial consort of Darius, hail!\nThe wife, the mother of the Persians' god,\nIf yet our former glories fade not from us.\nATOSSA And therefore am I come, leaving my house\nThat shines with gorgeous ornaments and gold,\nWhere in past days Darius held with me\nHis royal residence. With anxious care\nMy heart is tortured: I will tell you, friends,\nMy thoughts, not otherwise devoid of fear,\nLest mighty wealth with haughty foot o'erturn\nAnd trample in the dust that happiness,\nWhich, not unbless'd by Heaven, Darius raised.\nFor this with double force unquiet thoughts\nPast utterance fill my soul; that neither wealth\nWith all its golden stores, where men are wanting,\nClaims reverence; nor the light, that beams from power,\nShines on the man whom wealth disdains to grace.\nThe golden stores of wealth indeed are ours;\nBut for the light (such in the house I deem\nThe presence of its lord) there I have fears.\nAdvise me then, you whose experienced age\nSupports the state of Persia: prudence guides\nYour councils, always kind and faithful to me.\nLEADER Speak, royal lady, what thy will, assured\nWe want no second bidding, where our power\nIn word or deed waits on our zeal: our hearts\nIn this with honest duty shall obey thee.\nATOSSA Oft, since my son hath march'd his mighty host\nAgainst the lonians, warring to subdue\nTheir country, have my slumbers been disturb'd\nWith dreams of dread portent; but most last night,\nWith marks of plainest proof. I'll tell thee then:\nAlethought two women stood before my eyes\nGorgeously vested, one in Persian robes\nAdorn'd, the other in the Doric garb.\nWith more than mortal majesty they moved,\nOf peerless beauty; sisters too they seem'd,\nThough distant each from each they chanced to dwell,\nIn Greece the one, on the barbaric coast\nThe other. 'Twixt them soon dissension rose:\nMy son then hasted to compose their strife,\nSoothed them to fair accord, beneath his car\nYokes them, and reins their harness'd necks. The one,\nExulting in her rich array, with pride\nArching her stately neck, obey'd the reins;\nThe other with indignant fury spurn'd\nThe car, and dash'd it piecemeal, rent the reins,\nAnd tore the yoke asunder; down my son\nFell from the seat, and instant at his side\nHis father stands, Darius, at his fall\nImpress'd with pity: him when Xerxes saw,\nGlowing with grief and shame he rends his robes.\nThis was the dreadful vision of the night.\nWhen I arose, in the sweet-flowing stream\nI bathed my hands, and on the incensed altars\nPresenting my oblations to the gods\nTo avert these ills, an eagle I behold\nFly to the altar of the sun; aghast\nI stood, my friends, and speechless; when a hawk\nWith eager speed runs thither, furious cuffs\nThe eagle with his wings, and with his talons\nUnplumes his head; meantime the imperial bird\nCowers to the blows defenceless. Dreadful this\nTo me that saw it, and to you that hear.\nMy son, let conquest crown his arms, would shine\nWith dazzling glory; but should Fortune frown,\nThe state indeed presumes not to arraign\nHis sovereignty; yet how, his honour lost,\nHow shall he sway the sceptre of this land?\nLEADER We would not, royal lady, sink thy soul\nWith fear in the excess, nor raise it high\nWith confidence. Go then, address the gods;\nIf thou hast seen aught ill, entreat their power\nTo avert that ill, and perfect ev'ry good\nTo thee, thy sons, the state, and all thy friends.\nThen to the earth, and to the mighty dead\nBehooves thee pour libations; gently cal\nHim that was once thy husband, whom thou saw'st\nIn visions of the night; entreat his shade\nFrom the deep realms beneath to send to light\nTriumph to thee and to thy son; whate'er\nBears other import, to inwrap, to hide it\nClose in the covering earth's profoundest gloom.\nThis, in the presage of my thoughts that flow\nBenevolent to thee, have I proposed;\nAnd all, we trust, shall be successful to thee.\nATOSSA Thy friendly judgment first hath placed these dreams\nIn a fair light, confirming the event\nBenevolent to my son and to my house.\nMay all the good be ratified! These rites\nShall, at thy bidding, to the powers of heaven,\nAnd to the manes of our friends, be paid\nIn order meet, when I return; meanwhile\nIndulge me, friends, who wish to be inform'd\nWhere, in what clime, the towers of Athens rise.\nLEADER Far in the west, where sets the imperial sun.\nATOSSA Yet my son will'd the conquest of this town.\nLEADER May Greece through all her states bend to his power!\nATOSSA Send they embattled numbers to the field?\nLEADER A force that to the Medes hath wrought much wo.\nATOSSA Have they sufficient treasures in their houses?\nLEADER Their rich earth yields a copious fount of silver.\nATOSSA From the strong bow wing they the barbed shaft?\nLEADER They grasp the stout spear, and the massy shield.\nATOSSA What monarch reigns, whose power commands their ranks?\nLEADER Slaves to no lord, they own no kingly power.\nATOSSA How can they then resist the invading foe?\nLEADER As to spread havoc through the numerous host,\nThat round Darius form'd their glitt'ring files.\nATOSSA Thy words strike deep, and wound the parent's breast\nWhose sons are march'd to such a dangerous field.\nLEADER But, if I judge aright, thou soon shalt hear\nEach circumstance; for this way, mark him, speeds\nA Persian messenger; he bears, be sure,\nTidings of high import, or good or ill. (A MESSENGER enters.)\nMESSENGER Wo to the towns through Asia's peopled realms!\nWo to the land of Persia, once the port\nOf boundless wealth, how is thy glorious state\nVanish'd at once, and all thy spreading honours\nFall'n, lost! Ah me! unhappy is his task\nThat bears unhappy tidings: but constraint\nCompels me to relate this tale of wo.\nPersians, the whole barbaric host is fall'n.\nCHORUS (chanting) O horror, horror! What a baleful train\nOf recent ills! Ah, Persians, as he speaks\nOf ruin, let your tears stream to the earth.\nMESSENGER It is ev'n so, all ruin; and myself,\nBeyond all hope returning, view this light.\nCHORUS (chanting) How tedious and oppressive is the weight\nOf age, reserved to hear these hopeless ills!\nMESSENGER I speak not from report; but these mine eyes\nBeheld the ruin which my tongue would utter.\nCHORUS (chanting) Wo, wo is me! Then has the iron storm,\nThat darken'd from the realms of Asia, pour'd\nIn vain its arrowy shower on sacred Greece.\nMESSENGER In heaps the unhappy dead lie on the strand\nOf Salamis, and all the neighbouring shores.\nCHORUS (chanting) Unhappy friends, sunk, perish'd in the sea;\nTheir bodies, mid the wreck of shatter'd ships,\nMangled, and rolling on the encumber'd waves!\nMESSENGER Naught did their bows avail, but all the troops\nIn the first conflict of the ships were lost.\nCHORUS (chanting) Raise the funereal cry, with dismal notes\nWailing the wretched Persians. Oh, how ill\nThey plann'd their measures, all their army perish'd!\nMESSENGER O Salamis, how hateful is thy name!\nAnd groans burst from me when I think of Athens.\nCHORUS (chanting) How dreadful to her foes! Call to remembrance\nHow many Persian dames, wedded in vain,\nHath Athens of their noble husbands widow'd?\nATOSSA Astonied with these ills, my voice thus long\nHath wanted utterance: griefs like these exceed\nThe power of speech or question: yet ev'n such,\nInflicted by the gods, must mortal man\nConstrain'd by hard necessity endure.\nBut tell me all, without distraction tell me,\nAll this calamity, though many a groan\nBurst from thy labouring heart. Who is not fallen?\nWhat leader must we wail? What sceptred chief\nDying hath left his troops without a lord?\nMESSENGER Xerxes himself lives, and beholds the light.\nATOSSA That word beams comfort on my house, a ray\nThat brightens through the melancholy gloom.\nMESSENGER Artembares, the potent chief that led\nTen thousand horse, lies slaughtered on the rocks\nOf rough Sileniae. The great Dadaces,\nBeneath whose standard march'd a thousand horse,\nPierced by a spear, fell headlong from the ship.\nTenagon, bravest of the Bactrians, lies\nRoll'd on the wave-worn beach of Ajax' isle.\nLilaeus, Arsames, Argestes, dash\nWith violence in death against the rocks\nWhere nest the silver doves. Arcteus, that dwelt\nNear to the fountains of the Egyptian Nile,\nAdeues, and Pheresba, and Pharnuchus\nFell from one ship. Matallus, Chrysa's chief,\nThat led his dark'ning squadrons, thrice ten thousand,\nOn jet-black steeds, with purple gore distain'd\nThe yellow of his thick and shaggy beard.\nThe Magian Arabus, and Artames\nFrom Bactra, mould'ring on the dreary shore\nLie low. Amistris, and Amphistreus there\nGrasps his war-wear spear; there prostrate lies\nThe illustrious Ariomardus; long his los\nShall Sardis weep: thy Mysian Sisames,\nAnd Tharybis, that o'er the burden'd deep\nLed five times fifty vessels; Lerna gave\nThe hero birth, and manly race adorn'd\nHis pleasing form, but low in death he lies\nUnhappy in his fate. Syennesis,\nCilicia's warlike chief, who dared to front\nThe foremost dangers, singly to the foes\nA terror, there too found a glorious death.\nThese chieftains to my sad remembrance rise,\nRelating but a few of many ills.\nATOSSA This is the height of ill, ah me! and shame\nTo Persia, grief, and lamentation loud.\nBut tell me this, afresh renew thy tale:\nWhat was the number of the Grecian fleet,\nThat in fierce conflict their bold barks should dare\nRush to encounter with the Persian hosts.\nMESSENGER Know then, in numbers the barbaric fleet\nWas far superior: in ten squadrons, each\nOf thirty ships, Greece plough'd the deep; of these\nOne held a distant station. Xerxes led\nA thousand ships; their number well I know;\nTwo hundred more, and seven, that swept the seas\nWith speediest sail: this was their full amount.\nAnd in the engagement seem'd we not secure\nOf victory? But unequal fortune sunk\nOur scale in fight, discomfiting our host.\nATOSSA The gods preserve the city of Minerva.\nMESSENGER The walls of Athens are impregnable,\nTheir firmest bulwarks her heroic sons.\nATOSSA Which navy first advanced to the attack?\nWho led to the onset, tell me; the bold Greeks,\nOr, glorying in his numerous fleet, my son?\nMESSENGER Our evil genius, lady, or some god\nHostile to Persia, led to ev'ry ill.\nForth from the troops of Athens came a Greek,\nAnd thus address'd thy son, the imperial Xerxes:-\n\"Soon as the shades of night descend, the Grecians\nShall quit their station; rushing to their oars\nThey mean to separate, and in secret flight\nSeek safety.\" At these words, the royal chief,\nLittle conceiving of the wiles of Greece\nAnd gods averse, to all the naval leaders\nGave his high charge:-\"Soon as yon sun shall cease\nTo dart his radiant beams, and dark'ning night\nAscends the temple of the sky, arrange\nIn three divisions your well-ordered ships,\nAnd guard each pass, each outlet of the seas:\nOthers enring around this rocky isle\nOf Salamis. Should Greece escape her fate,\nAnd work her way by secret flight, your heads\nShall answer the neglect.\" This harsh command\nHe gave, exulting in his mind, nor knew\nWhat Fate design'd. With martial discipline\nAnd prompt obedience, snatching a repast,\nEach mariner fix'd well his ready oar.\nSoon as the golden sun was set, and night\nAdvanced, each train'd to ply the dashing oar,\nAssumed his seat; in arms each warrior stood,\nTroop cheering troop through all the ships of war.\nEach to the appointed station steers his course;\nAnd through the night his naval force each chief\nFix'd to secure the passes. Night advanced,\nBut not by secret flight did Greece attempt\nTo escape. The morn, all beauteous to behold,\nDrawn by white steeds bounds o'er the enlighten'd earth;\nAt once from ev'ry Greek with glad acclaim\nBurst forth the song of war, whose lofty notes\nThe echo of the island rocks return'd,\nSpreading dismay through Persia's hosts, thus fallen\nFrom their high hopes; no flight this solemn strain\nPortended, but deliberate valour bent\nOn daring battle; while the trumpet's sound\nKindled the flames of war. But when their oars\nThe paean ended, with impetuous force\nDash'd the resounding surges, instant all\nRush'd on in view: in orderly array\nThe squadron on the right first led, behind\nRode their whole fleet; and now distinct we heard\nFrom ev'ry part this voice of exhortation:-\n\"Advance, ye sons of Greece, from thraldom save\nYour country, save your wives, your children save,\nThe temples of your gods, the sacred tomb\nWhere rest your honour'd ancestors; this day\nThe common cause of all demands your valour.\"\nMeantime from Persia's hosts the deep'ning shout\nAnswer'd their shout; no time for cold delay;\nBut ship 'gainst ship its brazen beak impell'd.\nFirst to the charge a Grecian galley rush'd;\nIll the Phoenician bore the rough attack,\nIts sculptured prow all shatter'd. Each advanced\nDaring an opposite. The deep array\nOf Persia at the first sustain'd the encounter;\nBut their throng'd numbers, in the narrow seas\nConfined, want room for action; and, deprived\nOf mutual aid, beaks clash with beaks, and each\nBreaks all the other's oars: with skill disposed\nThe Grecian navy circled them around\nWith fierce assault; and rushing from its height\nThe inverted vessel sinks: the sea no more\nWears its accustomed aspect, with foul wrecks\nAnd blood disfigured; floating carcasses\nRoll on the rocky shores: the poor remains\nOf the barbaric armament to flight\nPly every oar inglorious: onward rush\nThe Greeks amid the ruins of the fleet,\nAs through a shoal of fish caught in the net,\nSpreading destruction: the wide ocean o'er\nWailings are heard, and loud laments, till night\nWith darkness on her brow brought grateful truce.\nShould I recount each circumstance of wo,\nTen times on my unfinished tale the sun\nWould set; for be assured that not one day\nCould close the ruin of so vast a host.\nATOSSA Ah, what a boundless sea of wo hath burst\nOn Persia, and the whole barbaric race!\nMESSENGER These are not half, not half our ills; on these\nCame an assemblage of calamities,\nThat sunk us with a double weight of wo.\nATOSSA What fortune can be more unfriendly to us\nThan this? Say on, what dread calamity\nSunk Persia's host with greater weight of wo.\nMESSENGER Whoe'er of Persia's warriors glow'd in prime\nOf vig'rous youth, or felt their generous souls\nExpand with courage, or for noble birth\nShone with distinguish'd lustre, or excell'd\nIn firm and duteous loyalty, all these\nAre fall'n, ignobly, miserably fall'n.\nATOSSA Alas, their ruthless fate, unhappy friends!\nBut in what manner, tell me, did they perish?\nMESSENGER Full against Salamis an isle arises,\nOf small circumference, to the anchor'd bark\nUnfaithful; on the promontory's brow,\nThat overlooks the sea, Pan loves to lead\nThe dance: to this the monarch sends these chiefs,\nThat when the Grecians from their shatter'd ships\nShould here seek shelter, these might hew them down\nAn easy conquest, and secure the strand\nTo their sea-wearied friends; ill judging what\nThe event: but when the fav'ring god to Greece\nGave the proud glory of this naval fight,\nInstant in all their glitt'ring arms they leap'd\nFrom their light ships, and all the island round\nEncompass'd, that our bravest stood dismay'd;\nWhile broken rocks, whirl'd with tempestuous force,\nAnd storms of arrows crush'd them; then the Greeks\nRush to the attack at once, and furious spread\nThe carnage, till each mangled Persian fell.\nDeep were the groans of Xerxes when he saw\nThis havoc; for his seat, a lofty mound\nCommanding the wide sea, o'erlook'd his hosts.\nWith rueful cries he rent his royal robes,\nAnd through his troops embattled on the shore\nGave signal of retreat; then started wild,\nAnd fled disorder'd. To the former ills\nThese are fresh miseries to awake thy sighs.\nATOSSA Invidious Fortune, how thy baleful power\nHath sunk the hopes of Persia! Bitter fruit\nMy son hath tasted from his purposed vengeance\nOn Athens, famed for arms; the fatal field\nOf Marathon, red with barbaric blood,\nSufficed not; that defeat he thought to avenge,\nAnd pull'd this hideous ruin on his head.\nBut tell me, if thou canst, where didst thou leave\nThe ships that happily escaped the wreck?\nMESSENGER The poor remains of Persia's scatter'd fleet\nSpread ev'ry sail for flight, as the wind drives,\nIn wild disorder; and on land no less\nThe ruin'd army; in Boeotia some,\nWith thirst oppress'd, at Crene's cheerful rills\nWere lost; forespent with breathless speed some pass\nThe fields of Phocis, some the Doric plain,\nAnd near the gulf of Melia, the rich vale\nThrough which Sperchius rolls his friendly stream.\nAchaea thence and the Thessalian state\nReceived our famish'd train; the greater part\nThrough thirst and hunger perish'd there, oppress'd\nAt once by both: but we our painful steps\nHeld onwards to Magnesia, and the land\nOf Macedonia, o'er the ford of Axius,\nAnd Bolbe's sedgy marshes, and the heights\nOf steep Pangaeos, to the realms of Thrace.\nThat night, ere yet the season, breathing frore,\nRush'd winter, and with ice incrusted o'er\nThe flood of sacred Strymon: such as own'd\nNo god till now, awe-struck, with many a prayer\nAdored the earth and sky. When now the troops\nHad ceased their invocations to the gods,\nO'er the stream's solid crystal they began\nTheir march; and we, who took our early way,\nEre the sun darted his warm beams, pass'd safe:\nBut when this burning orb with fiery rays\nUnbound the middle current, down they sunk\nEach over other; happiest he who found\nThe speediest death: the poor remains, that 'scaped,\nWith pain through Thrace dragg'd on their toilsome march,\nA feeble few, and reach'd their native soil;\nThat Persia sighs through all her states, and mourns\nHer dearest youth. This is no feigned tale:\nBut many of the ills, that burst upon us\nIn dreadful vengeance, I refrain to utter. (The MESSENGER withdraws.)\nLEADER OF THE CHORUS O Fortune, heavy with affliction's load,\nHow bath thy foot crush'd all the Persian race!\nATOSSA Ah me, what sorrows for our ruin'd host\nOppress my soul! Ye visions of the night\nHaunting my dreams, how plainly did you show\nThese ills!-You set them in too fair a light.\nYet, since your bidding hath in this prevail'd,\nFirst to the gods wish I to pour my prayers,\nThen to the mighty dead present my off 'rings,\nBringing libations from my house: too late,\nI know, to change the past; yet for the future,\nIf haply better fortune may await it,\nBehooves you, on this sad event, to guide\nYour friends with faithful counsels. Should my son\nReturn ere I have finish'd, let your voice\nSpeak comfort to him; friendly to his house\nAttend him, nor let sorrow rise on sorrows. (ATOSSA and her retinue\ngo out.)\nCHORUS (singing, strophe)\nAwful sovereign of the skies,\nWhen now o'er Persia's numerous host\nThou badest the storm with ruin rise,\nAll her proud vaunts of glory lost,\nEcbatana's imperial head\nBy thee was wrapp'd in sorrow's dark'ning shade;\nThrough Susa's palaces with loud lament,\nBy their soft hands their veils all rent,\nThe copious tear the virgins pour,\nThat trickles their bare bosoms o'er.\nFrom her sweet couch up starts the widow'd bride,\nHer lord's loved image rushing on her soul,\nThrows the rich ornaments of youth aside,\nAnd gives her griefs to flow without control:\nHer griefs not causeless; for the mighty slain\nOur melting tears demand, and sorrow-soften'd strain.\n(antistrophe)\nNow her wailings wide despair\nPours these exhausted regions o'er:\nXerxes, ill-fated, led the war;\nXerxes, ill-fated, leads no more;\nXerxes sent forth the unwise command,\nThe crowded ships unpeopled all the land;\nThat land, o'er which Darius held his reign,\nCourting the arts of peace, in vain,\nO'er all his grateful realms adored,\nThe stately Susa's gentle lord.\nBlack o'er the waves his burden'd vessels sweep,\nFor Greece elate the warlike squadrons fly;\nNow crush'd, and whelm'd beneath the indignant deep\nThe shatter'd wrecks and lifeless heroes lie:\nWhile, from the arms of Greece escaped, with toil\nThe unshelter'd monarch roams o'er Thracia's dreary soil.\n(epode)\nThe first in battle slain\nBy Cychrea's craggy shore\nThrough sad constraint, ah me! forsaken lie,\nAll pale and smear'd with gore:-\nRaise high the mournful strain,\nAnd let the voice of anguish pierce the sky:-\nOr roll beneath the roaring tide,\nBy monsters rent of touch abhorr'd;\nWhile through the widow'd mansion echoing wide\nSounds the deep groan, and wails its slaughter'd lord:\nPale with his fears the helpless orphan there\nGives the full stream of plaintive grief to flow;\nWhile age its hoary head in deep despair\nBends; list'ning to the shrieks of wo.\nWith sacred awe\nThe Persian law\nNo more shall Asia's realms revere;\nTo their lord's hand\nAt his command,\nNo more the exacted tribute bear.\nWho now falls prostrate at the monarch's throne?\nHis regal greatness is no more.\nNow no restraint the wanton tongue shall own,\nFree from the golden curb of power;\nFor on the rocks, wash'd by the beating flood,\nHis awe commanding nobles lie in blood. (ATOSSA returns, clad in\nthe garb of mourning; she carries offerings for the tomb of Darius.)\nATOSSA Whoe'er, my friends, in the rough stream of life\nHath struggled with affliction, thence is taught\nThat, when the flood begins to swell, the heart\nFondly fears all things; when the fav'ring gale\nOf Fortune smooths the current, it expands\nWith unsuspecting confidence, and deems\nThat gale shall always breathe. So to my eyes\nAll things now wear a formidable shape,\nAnd threaten from the gods: my ears are pierced\nWith sounds far other than of song. Such ills\nDismay my sick'ning soul: hence from my house\nNor glitt'ring car attends me, nor the train\nOf wonted state, while I return, and bear\nLibations soothing to the father's shade\nIn the son's cause; delicious milk, that foams\nWhite from the sacred heifer; liquid honey,\nExtract of flowers; and from its virgin fount\nThe running crystal; this pure draught, that flow'd\nFrom the ancient vine, of power to bathe the spirits\nIn joy; the yellow olive's fragrant fruit,\nThat glories in its leaves' unfading verdure;\nWith flowers of various hues, earth's fairest offspring\nInwreathed. But you, my friends, amid these rites\nRaise high your solemn warblings, and invoke\nYour lord, divine Darius; I meanwhile\nWill pour these off'rings to the infernal gods.\nCHORUS (chanting) Yes, royal lady, Persia's honour'd grace,\nTo earth's dark chambers pour thy off'rings: we\nWith choral hymns will supplicate the powers\nThat guide the dead, to be propitious to us.\nAnd you, that o'er the realms of night extend\nYour sacred sway, thee mighty earth, and the\nHermes; thee chief, tremendous king, whose throne\nAwes with supreme dominion, I adjure:\nSend, from your gloomy regions, send his shade\nOnce more to visit this ethereal light;\nThat he alone, if aught of dread event\nHe sees yet threat'ning Persia, may disclose\nTo us poor mortals Fate's extreme decree.\nHears the honour'd godlike king?\nThese barbaric notes of wo,\nTaught in descant sad to ring,\nHears he in the shades below?\nThou, O Earth, and you, that lead\nThrough your sable realms the dead,\nGuide him as he takes his way,\nAnd give him to the ethereal light of day!\nLet the illustrious shade arise\nGlorious in his radiant state,\nMore than blazed before our eyes,\nEre sad Susa mourn'd his fate.\nDear he lived, his tomb is dear,\nShrining virtues we revere:\nSend then, monarch of the dead,\nSuch as Darius was, Darius' shade.\nHe in realm-unpeopling war\nWasted not his subjects' blood,\nGodlike in his will to spare,\nIn his councils wise and good.\nRise then, sovereign lord, to light;\nOn this mound's sepulchral height\nLift thy sock in saffron died,\nAnd rear thy rich tiara's regal pride!\nGreat and good, Darius, rise: (Lord of Persia's lord, appear:) Thus\ninvolved with thrilling cries\nCome, our tale of sorrow hear!\nWar her Stygian pennons spreads,\nBrooding darkness o'er our heads;\nFor stretch'd along the dreary shore\nThe flow'r of Asia lies distain'd with gore.\nRise, Darius, awful power;\nLong for thee our tears shall flow.\nWhy thy ruin'd empire o'er\nSwells this double flood of wo?\nSweeping o'er the azure tide\nRode thy navy's gallant pride:\nNavy now no more, for all\nBeneath the whelming wave- (While the CHORUS Sings, ATOSSA performs\nher ritual by the tomb. As the song concludes the GHOST OF DARIUS\nappears from the tomb.)\nGHOST OF DARIUS Ye faithful Persians, honour'd now in age,\nOnce the companions of my youth, what ills\nAfflict the state? The firm earth groans, it opes,\nDisclosing its vast deeps; and near my tomb\nI see my wife: this shakes my troubled soul\nWith fearful apprehensions; yet her off'rings\nPleased I receive. And you around my tomb\nChanting the lofty strain, whose solemn air\nDraws forth the dead, with grief-attemper'd notes\nMournfully call me: not with ease the way\nLeads to this upper air; and the stern gods,\nPrompt to admit, yield not a passage back\nBut with reluctance: much with them my power\nAvailing, with no tardy step I come.\nSay then, with what new ill doth Persia groan?\nCHORUS (chanting) My wonted awe o'ercomes me; in thy presence\nI dare not raise my eyes, I dare not speak.\nGHOST OF DARIUS Since from the realms below, by thy sad strains\nAdjured, I come, speak; let thy words be brief;\nSay whence thy grief, tell me unawed by fear.\nI dread to forge a flattering tale, I dread\nTo grieve thee with a harsh offensive truth.\nGHOST OF DARIUS Since fear hath chained his tongue, high-honour'd\ndame,\nOnce my imperial consort, check thy tears,\nThy griefs, and speak distinctly. Mortal man\nMust bear his lot of wo; afflictions rise\nMany from sea, many from land, if life\nBe haply measured through a lengthen'd course.\nATOSSA O thou that graced with Fortune's choicest gifts\nSurpassing mortals, while thine eye beheld\nYon sun's ethereal rays, lived'st like a god\nBless'd amid thy Persians; bless'd I deem thee now\nIn death, ere sunk in this abyss of ills,\nDarius, hear at once our sum of wo;\nRuin through all her states hath crush'd thy Persia.\nGHOST OF DARIUS By pestilence, or faction's furious storms?\nATOSSA Not so: near Athens perish'd all our troops.\nGHOST OF DARIUS Say, of my sons, which led the forces thither?\nATOSSA The impetuous Xerxes, thinning all the land.\nGHOST OF DARIUS By sea or land dared he this rash attempt?\nATOSSA By both: a double front the war presented.\nGHOST OF DARIUS A host so vast what march conducted o'er?\nATOSSA From shore to shore he bridged the Hellespont.\nGHOST OF DARIUS What! could he chain the mighty Bosphorus?\nATOSSA Ev'n so, some god assisting his design.\nGHOST OF DARIUS Some god of power to cloud his better sense.\nATOSSA The event now shows what mischiefs he achieved.\nGHOST OF DARIUS What suffer'd they, for whom your sorrows flow?\nATOSSA His navy sunk spreads ruin through the camp.\nGHOST OF DARIUS Fell all his host beneath the slaught'ring spear?\nATOSSA Susa, through all her streets, mourns her lost sons.\nGHOST OF DARIUS How vain the succour, the defence of arms?\nATOSSA In Bactra age and grief are only left.\nGHOST OF DARIUS Ah, what a train of warlike youth is lost!\nATOSSA Xerxes, astonished, desolate, alone-\nGHOST OF DARIUS How will this end? Nay, pause not. Is he safe?\nATOSSA Fled o'er the bridge, that join'd the adverse strands.\nGHOST OF DARIUS And reach'd this shore in safety? Is this true?\nATOSSA True are thy words, and not to be gainsay'd.\nGHOST OF DARIUS With what a winged course the oracles\nHaste their completion! With the lightning's speed\nJove on my son hath hurled his threaten'd vengeance:\nYet I implored the gods that it might fall\nIn time's late process: but when rashness drives\nImpetuous on, the scourge of Heaven upraised\nLashes the Fury forward; hence these ills\nPour headlong on my friends. Not weighing this,\nMy son, with all the fiery pride of youth,\nHath quickened their arrival, while he hoped\nTo bind the sacred Hellespont, to hold\nThe raging Bosphorus, like a slave, in chains,\nAnd dared the advent'rous passage, bridging firm\nWith links of solid iron his wondrous way,\nTo lead his numerous host; and swell'd with thoughts\nPresumptuous, deem'd, vain mortal! that his power\nShould rise above the gods, and Neptune's might.\nAnd was riot this the phrensy of the soul?\nBut much I fear lest all my treasured wealth\nFall to some daring hand an easy prey.\nATOSSA This from too frequent converse with bad men\nThe impetuous Xerxes learn'd; these caught his ear\nWith thy great deeds, as winning for thy sons\nVast riches with thy conquering spear, while he\nTim'rous and slothful, never, save in sport,\nLifted his lance, nor added to the wealth\nWon by his noble fathers. This reproach\nOft by bad men repeated, urged his soul\nTo attempt this war, and lead his troops to Greece.\nGHOST OF DARIUS Great deeds have they achieved, and memorable\nFor ages: never hath this wasted state\nSuffer'd such ruin, since heaven's awful king\nGave to one lord Asia's extended plains\nWhite with innumerous flocks, and to his hands\nConsign'd the imperial sceptre. Her brave hosts\nA Mede first led; the virtues of his son\nFix'd firm the empire, for his temperate soul\nBreathed prudence. Cyrus next, by fortune graced,\nAdorn'd the throne, and bless'd his grateful friends\nWith peace: he to his mighty monarchy\nJoin'd Lydia, and the Phrygians; to his power\nIonia bent reluctant; but the gods\nHis son then wore the regal diadem.\nWith victory his gentle virtues crown'd\nHis son then wore the regal diadem.\nNext to disgrace his country, and to stain\nThe splendid glories of this ancient throne,\nRose Mardus: him, with righteous vengeance fired\nArtaphernes, and his confederate chiefs\nCrush'd in his palace: Maraphis assumed\nThe sceptre: after him Artaphernes.\nMe next to this exalted eminence,\nCrowning my great ambition, Fortune raised.\nIn many a glorious field my glittering spear\nFlamed in the van of Persia's numerous hosts;\nBut never wrought such ruin to the state.\nXerxes, my son, in all the pride of youth\nListens to youthful counsels, my commands\nNo more remember'd; hence, my hoary friends,\nNot the whole line of Persia's sceptred lords,\nYou know it well, so wasted her brave sons.\nLEADER OF THE CHORUS Why this? To what fair end are these thy words\nDirected? Sovereign lord, instruct thy Persians\nHow, mid this ruin, best to guide their state.\nGHOST OF DARIUS No more 'gainst Greece lead your embattled hosts;\nNot though your deep'ning phalanx spreads the field\nOutnumb'ring theirs: their very earth fights for them.\nLEADER What may thy words import? How fight for them?\nGHOST OF DARIUS With famine it destroys your cumbrous train.\nLEADER Choice levies, prompt for action, will we send,\nGHOST OF DARIUS Those, in the fields of Greece that now remain,\nShall not revisit safe the Persian shore.\nLEADER What! shall not all the host of Persia pass\nAgain from Europe o'er the Hellespont?\nGHOST OF DARIUS Of all their numbers few, if aught avails\nThe faith of heaven-sent oracles to him\nThat weighs the past, in their accomplishment\nNot partial: hence he left, in faithless hope\nConfiding, his selected train of heroes.\nThese have their station where Asopus flows\nWat'ring the plain, whose grateful currents roll\nDiffusing plenty through Boeotia's fields.\nThere misery waits to crush them with the load\nOf heaviest ills, in vengeance for their proud\nAnd impious daring; for where'er they held\nThrough Greece their march, they fear'd not to profane\nThe statues of the gods; their hallow'd shrines\nEmblazed, o'erturn'd their altars, and in ruins,\nRent from their firm foundations, to the ground\nLevell'd their temples; such their frantic deeds,\nNor less their suff'rings; greater still await them;\nFor Vengeance hath not wasted all her stores;\nThe heap yet swells; for in Plataea's plains\nBeneath the Doric spear the clotted mas\nOf carnage shall arise, that the high mounds,\nPiled o'er the dead, to late posterity\nShall give this silent record to men's eyes,\nThat proud aspiring thoughts but ill beseem\nWeak mortals: for oppression, when it springs,\nPuts forth the blade of vengeance, and its fruit\nYields a ripe harvest of repentant wo.\nBehold this vengeance, and remember Greece,\nRemember Athens: henceforth let not pride,\nHer present state disdaining, strive to grasp\nAnother's, and her treasured happiness\nShed on the ground: such insolent attempts\nAwake the vengeance of offended Jove.\nBut you, whose age demands more temperate thoughts,\nWith words of well-placed counsel teach his youth\nTo curb that pride, which from the gods calls down\nDestruction on his head. (To ATOSSA) And thou, whose age\nThe miseries of thy Xerxes sink with sorrow,\nGo to thy house, thence choose the richest robe,\nAnd meet thy son; for through the rage of grief\nHis gorgeous vestments from his royal limbs\nAre foully rent. With gentlest courtesy\nSoothe his affliction; for is duteous ear,\nI know, will listen to thy voice alone.\nNow to the realms of darkness I descend.\nMy ancient friends, farewell, and mid these ills\nEach day in pleasures battle your drooping spirits,\nFor treasured riches naught avail the dead. (The GHOST OF DARIUS\nvanishes into the tomb.)\nLEADER These many present, many future ills\nDenounced on Persia, sink my soul with grief.\nATOSSA Unhappy fortune, what a tide of ills\nBursts o'er me! Chief this foul disgrace, which shows\nMy son divested of his rich attire,\nHis royal robes all rent, distracts my thoughts.\nBut I will go, choose the most gorgeous vest,\nAnd liaste to meet my son. Ne'er in his woes\nWill I forsake whom my soul holds most dear. (ATOSSA departs as the\nCHORUS begins its song.)\nCHORUS (strophe 1)\nYe powers that rule the skies,\nMemory recalls our great, our happy fate,\nOur well-appointed state,\nThe scenes of glory opening to our eyes,\nWhen this vast empire o'er\nThe good Darius, with each virtue bless'd\nThat forms a monarch's breast,\nShielding his subjects with a father's care\nInvincible in war,\nExtended like a god his awful power,\nThen spread our arms their glory wide,\nGuarding to peace her golden reign:\nEach tower'd city saw with pride\nSafe from the toils of war her homeward-marching train.\n(antistrophe 1)\nNor Haly's shallow strand\nHe pass'd, nor from his palace moved his state;\nHe spoke; his word was Fate.\nWhat strong-based cities could his might withstand?\nNot those that lift their heads\nWhere to the sea the floods of Strymon pass,\nLeaving the huts of Thrace;\nNor those, that far the extended ocean o'er\nStand girt with many a tower;\nNor where the Hellespont his broad wave spreads;\nNor the firm bastions' rampired might,\nWhose foot the deep Propontis laves;\nNor those, that glorying in their height\nFrown o'er the Pontic sea, and shade his darken'd waves.\n(strophe 2)\nEach sea-girt isle around\nBow'd to this monarch: humbled Lesbos bow'd;\nParos, of its marble proud;\nNaxos with vines, with olives Samos crown'd:\nHim Myconos adored;\nChios, the seat of beauty; Andros steep,\nThat stretches o'er the deep\nTo meet the wat'ry Tenos; him each bay\nBound by the Icarian sea,\nHim Melos, Gnidus, Rhodes confess'd their lord;\nO'er Cyprus stretch'd his sceptred hand:\nPaphos and Solos own'd his power,\nAnd Salamis, whose hostile strand,\nThe cause of all our wo, is red with Persian gore.\n(antistrophe 2)\nEv'n the proud towns, that rear'd\nSublime along the lonian coast their towers,\nWhere wealth her treasures pours,\nPeopled from Greece, his prudent reign revered.\nWith such unconquer'd might\nHis hardy warriors shook the embattled fields,\nHeroes that Persia yields,\nAnd those from distant realms that took their way,\nAnd wedged in close array\nBeneath his glitt'ring banners claim'd the fight.\nBut now these glories are no more:\nFarewell the big war's plumed pride:\nThe gods have crush'd this trophied power;\nSunk are our vanquish'd arms beneath the indignant tide. (XERXES\nenters, with a few followers. His royal raiment is torn, The entire\nclosing scene is sung or chanted.)\nXERXES Ah me, how sudden have the storms of Fate,\nBeyond all thought, all apprehension, burst\nOn my devoted head! O Fortune, Fortune!\nWith what relentless fury hath thy hand\nHurl'd desolation on the Persian race!\nWo unsupportable! The torturing thought\nOf our lost youth comes rushing on my mind,\nAnd sinks me to the ground. O Jove, that\nHad died with those brave men that died in fight I\nCHORUS O thou afflicted monarch, once the lord\nOf marshall'd armies, of the lustre beam'd\nFrom glory's ray o'er Persia, of her sons\nThe pride, the grace, whom ruin now hath sunk\nIn blood! The unpeopled land laments her youth\nBy Xerxes led to slaughter, till the realms\nOf death are gorged with Persians; for the flower\nOf all the realm, thousands, whose dreadful bows\nWith arrowy shower annoy'd the foe, are fall'n.\nXERXES Your fall, heroic youths, distracts my soul.\nCHORUS And Asia sinking on her knee, O king,\nOppress'd, with griefs oppress'd, bends to the earth.\nXERXES And I, O wretched fortune, I was born\nTo crush, to desolate my ruin'd country!\nCHORUS I have no voice, no swelling harmony,\nNo descant, save these notes of wo,\nHarsh, and responsive to the sullen sigh,\nRude strains, that unmelodious flow,\nTo welcome thy return.\nXERXES Then bid them flow, bid the wild measures flow\nHollow, unmusical, the notes of grief;\nThey suit my fortune, and dejected state.\nCHORUS Yes, at thy royal bidding shall the strain\nPour the deep sorrows of my soul;\nThe suff'rings of my bleeding country plain,\nAnd bid the mournful measures roll.\nAgain the voice of wild despair\nWith thrilling shrieks shall pierce the air;\nFor high the god of war his flaming crest\nRaised, with the fleet of Greece surrounded,\nThe haughty arms of Greece with conquest bless'd,\nAnd Persia's wither'd force confounded,\nDash'd on the dreary beach her heroes slain,\nOr whelm'd them in the darken'd main.\nXERXES To swell thy griefs ask ev'ry circumstance.\nCHORUS Where are thy valiant friends, thy chieftains where?\nPharnaces, Susas, and the might\nOf Pelagon, and Dotamas? The spear\nOf Agabates bold in fight?\nPsammis in mailed cuirass dress'd,\nAnd Susiscanes' glitt'ring crest?\nXERXES Dash'd from the Tyrian vessel on the rocks\nOf Salamis they sunk, and smear'd with gore\nThe heroes on the dreary strand are stretch'd.\nCHORUS Where is Pharnuchus? Ariomardus where,\nWith ev'ry gentle virtue graced?\nLilaeus, that from chiefs renown'd in war\nHis high-descended lineage traced?\nWhere rears Sebalces his crown-circled head:\nWhere Tharybis to battles bred,\nArtembares, Hystaechmes bold,\nMemphis, Masistress sheath'd in gold?\nXERXES Wretch that I am! These on the abhorred town\nOgygian Athens, roll'd their glowing eyes\nIndignant; but at once in the fierce shock\nOf battle fell, dash'd breathless on the ground.\nCHORUS There does the son of Batanochus lie,\nThrough whose rich veins the unsullied blood\nOf Susamus, down from the lineage high\nOf noble Mygabatas flow'd:\nAlpistus, who with faithful care\nNumber'd the deep'ning files of war,\nThe monarch's eye; on the ensanguined plain\nLow is the mighty warrior laid?\nIs great Aebares 'mong the heroes slain,\nAnd Partheus number'd with the dead?-\nAh me! those bursting groans, deep-charged with wo,\nThe fate of Persia's princes show.\nXERXES To my grieved memory thy mournful voice,\nTuned to the saddest notes of wo, recalls\nMy brave friends lost; and my rent heart returns\nIn dreadful symphony the sorrowing strain.\nCHORUS Yet once more shall I ask thee, yet once more,\nWhere is the Mardian Xanthes' might,\nThe daring chief, that from the Pontic shore\nLed his strong phalanx to the fight?\nAnchares where, whose high-raised shield\nFlamed foremost in the embattled field?\nWhere the high leaders of thy mail-clad horse,\nDaixis and Arsaces where?\nWhere Cigdadatas and Lythimnas' force,\nWaving untired his purple spear?\nXERXES Entomb'd, I saw them in the earth entomb'd;\nNor did the rolling car with solemn state\nAttend their rites: I follow'd: low they lie\n(Ah me, the once great leaders of my host!\nLow in the earth, without their honours lie.)\nCHORUS O wo, wo, wo! Unutterable wo\nThe demons of revenge have spread;\nAnd Ate from her drear abode below\nRises to view the horrid deed.\nXERXES Dismay, and rout, and ruin, ills that wait\nOn man's afflicted fortune, sink us down.\nCHORUS Dismay, and rout, and ruin on us wait,\nAnd all the vengeful storms of Fate:\nIll flows on ill, on sorrows sorrows rise;\nMisfortune leads her baleful train;\nBefore the Ionian squadrons Persia flies,\nOr sinks ingulf'd beneath the main.\nFall'n, fall'n is her imperial power,\nAnd conquest on her banners waits no more.\nXERXES At such a fall, such troops of heroes lost,\nHow can my soul but sink in deep despair!\nCease thy sad strain.\nCHORUS Is all thy glory lost?\nXERXES Seest thou these poor remains of my rent robes?\nCHORUS I see, I see.\nXERXES And this ill-furnish'd quiver?\nCHORUS Wherefore preserved?\nXERXES To store my treasured arrows.\nCHORUS Few, very few.\nXERXES And few my friendly aids.\nCHORUS I thought these Grecians shrunk appall'd at arms.\nXERXES No: they are bold and daring: these sad eyes\nBeheld their violent and deathful deeds.\nCHORUS The ruin, sayst thou, of thy shattered fleet?\nXERXES And in the anguish of my soul I rent\nMy royal robes.\nCHORUS Wo, wo!\nXERXES And more than wo.\nCHORUS Redoubled, threefold wo!\nXERXES Disgrace to me,\nBut triumph to the foe.\nCHORUS Are all thy powers\nIn ruin crush'd?\nXERXES No satrap guards me now.\nCHORUS Thy faithful friends sunk in the roaring main.\nXERXES Weep, weep their loss, and lead me to my house;\nAnswer my grief with grief, an ill return\nOf ills for ills. Yet once more raise that strain\nLamenting my misfortunes; beat thy breast,\nStrike, heave the groan; awake the Mysian strain\nTo notes of loudest wo; rend thy rich robes,\nPluck up thy beard, tear off thy hoary locks,\nAnd battle thine eyes in tears: thus through the streets\nSolemn and slow with sorrow lead my steps;\nLead to my house, and wail the fate of Persia.\nCHORUS Yes, once more at thy bidding shall the strain\nPour the deep sorrows of my soul;\nThe suff'rings of my bleeding untry plain,\nAnd bid the Mysian measures roll.\nAgain the voice of wild despair\nWith thrilling shrieks shall pierce the air;\nFor high the god of war his flaming crest\nRaised, with the fleet of Greece surrounded,\nThe haughty arms of Greece with conquest bless'd,\nAnd Persia's withered force confounded,\nDash'd on the dreary beach her heroes slain.,\nOr whelm'd them in the darken'd main.\nTHE END","title":"The Persians","type":"page"}