Thy friendly judgment first hath placed these dreamsIn a fair light, confirming the eventBenevolent to my son and to my house.
May all the good be ratified! These ritesShall, at thy bidding, to the powers of heaven,And to the manes of our friends, be paidIn order meet, when I return; meanwhile
Indulge me, friends, who wish to be inform'dWhere, in what clime, the towers of Athens rise.
LEADER
Far in the west, where sets the imperial sun.
ATOSSA
Yet my son will'd the conquest of this town.
LEADER
May Greece through all her states bend to his power!
ATOSSA
Send they embattled numbers to the field?
LEADER
A force that to the Medes hath wrought much wo.
ATOSSA
Have they sufficient treasures in their houses?
LEADER
Their rich earth yields a copious fount of silver.
ATOSSA
From the strong bow wing they the barbed shaft?
LEADER
They grasp the stout spear, and the massy shield.
ATOSSA
What monarch reigns, whose power commands their ranks?
LEADER
Slaves to no lord, they own no kingly power.
ATOSSA
How can they then resist the invading foe?
LEADER
As to spread havoc through the numerous host,That round Darius form'd their glitt'ring files.
ATOSSA
Thy words strike deep, and wound the parent's breastWhose sons are march'd to such a dangerous field.
LEADER
But, if I judge aright, thou soon shalt hearEach circumstance; for this way, mark him, speedsA Persian messenger; he bears, be sure,Tidings of high import, or good or ill.
(A MESSENGER enters.)
MESSENGER
Wo to the towns through Asia's peopled realms!
Wo to the land of Persia, once the port
Of boundless wealth, how is thy glorious stateVanish'd at once, and all thy spreading honoursFall'n, lost! Ah me! unhappy is his taskThat bears unhappy tidings: but constraintCompels me to relate this tale of wo.
Persians, the whole barbaric host is fall'n.
CHORUS (chanting)
O horror, horror! What a baleful train
Of recent ills! Ah, Persians, as he speaksOf ruin, let your tears stream to the earth.
MESSENGER
It is ev'n so, all ruin; and myself,
Beyond all hope returning, view this light.
CHORUS (chanting)
How tedious and oppressive is the weight
Of age, reserved to hear these hopeless ills!
MESSENGER
I speak not from report; but these mine eyesBeheld the ruin which my tongue would utter.
CHORUS (chanting)
Wo, wo is me! Then has the iron storm,
That darken'd from the realms of Asia, pour'dIn vain its arrowy shower on sacred Greece.
MESSENGER
In heaps the unhappy dead lie on the strandOf Salamis, and all the neighbouring shores.
CHORUS (chanting)
Unhappy friends, sunk, perish'd in the sea;Their bodies, mid the wreck of shatter'd ships,Mangled, and rolling on the encumber'd waves!
MESSENGER
Naught did their bows avail, but all the troopsIn the first conflict of the ships were lost.
CHORUS (chanting)
Raise the funereal cry, with dismal notesWailing the wretched Persians. Oh, how illThey plann'd their measures, all their army perish'd!
MESSENGER
O Salamis, how hateful is thy name!
And groans burst from me when I think of Athens.
CHORUS (chanting)
How dreadful to her foes! Call to remembranceHow many Persian dames, wedded in vain,Hath Athens of their noble husbands widow'd?
ATOSSA
Astonied with these ills, my voice thus longHath wanted utterance: griefs like these exceedThe power of speech or question: yet ev'n such,Inflicted by the gods, must mortal manConstrain'd by hard necessity endure.
But tell me all, without distraction tell me,All this calamity, though many a groanBurst from thy labouring heart. Who is not fallen?
What leader must we wail? What sceptred chiefDying hath left his troops without a lord?
MESSENGER
Xerxes himself lives, and beholds the light.
ATOSSA
That word beams comfort on my house, a rayThat brightens through the melancholy gloom.
MESSENGER
Artembares, the potent chief that led
Ten thousand horse, lies slaughtered on the rocksOf rough Sileniae. The great Dadaces,Beneath whose standard march'd a thousand horse,Pierced by a spear, fell headlong from the ship.
Tenagon, bravest of the Bactrians, lies
Roll'd on the wave-worn beach of Ajax' isle.
Lilaeus, Arsames, Argestes, dash
With violence in death against the rocks
Where nest the silver doves. Arcteus, that dweltNear to the fountains of the Egyptian Nile,Adeues, and Pheresba, and Pharnuchus
Fell from one ship. Matallus, Chrysa's chief,That led his dark'ning squadrons, thrice ten thousand,On jet-black steeds, with purple gore distain'dThe yellow of his thick and shaggy beard.
The Magian Arabus, and Artames
From Bactra, mould'ring on the dreary shoreLie low. Amistris, and Amphistreus there
Grasps his war-wear spear; there prostrate liesThe illustrious Ariomardus; long his losShall Sardis weep: thy Mysian Sisames,
And Tharybis, that o'er the burden'd deepLed five times fifty vessels; Lerna gave
The hero birth, and manly race adorn'd
His pleasing form, but low in death he liesUnhappy in his fate. Syennesis,
Cilicia's warlike chief, who dared to frontThe foremost dangers, singly to the foes
A terror, there too found a glorious death.
These chieftains to my sad remembrance rise,Relating but a few of many ills.
ATOSSA
This is the height of ill, ah me! and shameTo Persia, grief, and lamentation loud.
But tell me this, afresh renew thy tale:
What was the number of the Grecian fleet,That in fierce conflict their bold barks should dareRush to encounter with the Persian hosts.
MESSENGER
Know then, in numbers the barbaric fleet
Was far superior: in ten squadrons, each
Of thirty ships, Greece plough'd the deep; of theseOne held a distant station. Xerxes ledA thousand ships; their number well I know;Two hundred more, and seven, that swept the seasWith speediest sail: this was their full amount.
And in the engagement seem'd we not secureOf victory? But unequal fortune sunk
Our scale in fight, discomfiting our host.
ATOSSA
The gods preserve the city of Minerva.
MESSENGER
The walls of Athens are impregnable,
Their firmest bulwarks her heroic sons.
ATOSSA