But tell me, if thou canst, where didst thou leaveThe ships that happily escaped the wreck?
MESSENGER
The poor remains of Persia's scatter'd fleetSpread ev'ry sail for flight, as the wind drives,In wild disorder; and on land no lessThe ruin'd army; in Boeotia some,
With thirst oppress'd, at Crene's cheerful rillsWere lost; forespent with breathless speed some passThe fields of Phocis, some the Doric plain,And near the gulf of Melia, the rich valeThrough which Sperchius rolls his friendly stream.
Achaea thence and the Thessalian state
Received our famish'd train; the greater partThrough thirst and hunger perish'd there, oppress'dAt once by both: but we our painful stepsHeld onwards to Magnesia, and the land
Of Macedonia, o'er the ford of Axius,
And Bolbe's sedgy marshes, and the heightsOf steep Pangaeos, to the realms of Thrace.
That night, ere yet the season, breathing frore,Rush'd winter, and with ice incrusted o'erThe flood of sacred Strymon: such as own'dNo god till now, awe-struck, with many a prayerAdored the earth and sky. When now the troopsHad ceased their invocations to the gods,O'er the stream's solid crystal they beganTheir march; and we, who took our early way,Ere the sun darted his warm beams, pass'd safe:
But when this burning orb with fiery raysUnbound the middle current, down they sunkEach over other; happiest he who found
The speediest death: the poor remains, that 'scaped,With pain through Thrace dragg'd on their toilsome march,A feeble few, and reach'd their native soil;That Persia sighs through all her states, and mournsHer dearest youth. This is no feigned tale:
But many of the ills, that burst upon us
In dreadful vengeance, I refrain to utter.
(The MESSENGER withdraws.)
LEADER OF THE CHORUS
O Fortune, heavy with affliction's load,
How bath thy foot crush'd all the Persian race!
ATOSSA
Ah me, what sorrows for our ruin'd host
Oppress my soul! Ye visions of the night
Haunting my dreams, how plainly did you showThese ills!-You set them in too fair a light.
Yet, since your bidding hath in this prevail'd,First to the gods wish I to pour my prayers,Then to the mighty dead present my off 'rings,Bringing libations from my house: too late,I know, to change the past; yet for the future,If haply better fortune may await it,Behooves you, on this sad event, to guideYour friends with faithful counsels. Should my sonReturn ere I have finish'd, let your voiceSpeak comfort to him; friendly to his houseAttend him, nor let sorrow rise on sorrows.
(ATOSSA and her retinue go out.)
CHORUS (singing)
strophe
Awful sovereign of the skies,
When now o'er Persia's numerous host
Thou badest the storm with ruin rise,
All her proud vaunts of glory lost,
Ecbatana's imperial head
By thee was wrapp'd in sorrow's dark'ning shade;Through Susa's palaces with loud lament,By their soft hands their veils all rent,The copious tear the virgins pour,
That trickles their bare bosoms o'er.
From her sweet couch up starts the widow'd bride,Her lord's loved image rushing on her soul,Throws the rich ornaments of youth aside,And gives her griefs to flow without control:
Her griefs not causeless; for the mighty slainOur melting tears demand, and sorrow-soften'd strain.
antistrophe
Now her wailings wide despair
Pours these exhausted regions o'er:
Xerxes, ill-fated, led the war;
Xerxes, ill-fated, leads no more;
Xerxes sent forth the unwise command,
The crowded ships unpeopled all the land;That land, o'er which Darius held his reign,Courting the arts of peace, in vain,
O'er all his grateful realms adored,
The stately Susa's gentle lord.
Black o'er the waves his burden'd vessels sweep,For Greece elate the warlike squadrons fly;Now crush'd, and whelm'd beneath the indignant deepThe shatter'd wrecks and lifeless heroes lie:
While, from the arms of Greece escaped, with toilThe unshelter'd monarch roams o'er Thracia's dreary soil.
epode
The first in battle slain
By Cychrea's craggy shore
Through sad constraint, ah me! forsaken lie,All pale and smear'd with gore:-
Raise high the mournful strain,
And let the voice of anguish pierce the sky:-Or roll beneath the roaring tide,By monsters rent of touch abhorr'd;
While through the widow'd mansion echoing wideSounds the deep groan, and wails its slaughter'd lord:
Pale with his fears the helpless orphan thereGives the full stream of plaintive grief to flow;While age its hoary head in deep despairBends; list'ning to the shrieks of wo.
With sacred awe
The Persian law
No more shall Asia's realms revere;
To their lord's hand
At his command,
No more the exacted tribute bear.
Who now falls prostrate at the monarch's throne?
His regal greatness is no more.
Now no restraint the wanton tongue shall own,Free from the golden curb of power;For on the rocks, wash'd by the beating flood,His awe commanding nobles lie in blood.
(ATOSSA returns, clad in the garb of mourning; she carriesofferings for the tomb of Darius.)ATOSSA
Whoe'er, my friends, in the rough stream of lifeHath struggled with affliction, thence is taughtThat, when the flood begins to swell, the heartFondly fears all things; when the fav'ring galeOf Fortune smooths the current, it expandsWith unsuspecting confidence, and deems
That gale shall always breathe. So to my eyesAll things now wear a formidable shape,And threaten from the gods: my ears are piercedWith sounds far other than of song. Such illsDismay my sick'ning soul: hence from my houseNor glitt'ring car attends me, nor the trainOf wonted state, while I return, and bearLibations soothing to the father's shade