Chapter X: Part 10

ANTISTROPHE V.
CHORUS.
Nay! but yet thou mayst: the god,
That long hath raged, and burneth now,
With a gentler sway soft-wafted,
Soon may fan thy fevered brow.

ETEOCLES. The Curse must sway, my father's burning curse. The visions of the night were true, that showed me His heritage twin-portioned by the sword.

CHORUS. We are but women: yet we pray thee hear us.

ETEOCLES. Speak things that may be, and I'll hear. Be brief.

CHORUS. Fight not before the seventh gate, we pray thee.

ETEOCLES. My whetted will thy words may never blunt.

CHORUS. Why rush on danger? Victory's sure without thee.

ETEOCLES. So speak to slaves; a soldier may not hear thee.

CHORUS. But brother's blood--pluck not the bloody blossom.

ETEOCLES. If gods are just, he shall not 'scape from harm. [_Exit._

CHORAL HYMN.
STROPHE I.
I fear the house-destroying power; I fear
The goddess most ungodlike,[n39]
The all-truth-speaking seer
Of evil things, whose sleepless wrath doth nurse
Fulfilment of the frenzied father's curse.
The time doth darkly lower;
This strife of brother's blood with brother's blood
Spurs the dread hour.

ANTISTROPHE I.
O son of Scythia, must we ask thine aid?
Chalybian stranger thine,[n40]
Here with the keen unsparing blade
To part our fair possessions? thou dost deal
A bitter lot, O savage-minded steel!
Much loss is all the gain,
When mighty lords with their stark corpses measure
Their whole domain.

STROPHE II.
When the slain shall slay the slayer,
And kindred blood with blood
Shall mingle, when the thirsty Theban soil
Drinks eager the black-clotting sanguine flood,
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Who then shall purge the murderous stain,
Who wash it clean again?
When ancient guilt and new shall burst,
In one dire flood of woe?

ANTISTROPHE II.
With urgent pace the Fury treadeth,
To generations three
Avenging Laius' sin on Laius' race;
What time he sinned against the gods' decree,
When Phœbus from Earth's central shrine[f17]
Thrice sent the word divine--
LIVE CHILDLESS, LAIUS, FOR THY SEED
SHALL WORK THY COUNTRY'S WOE.

STROPHE III.
But he to foolish words gave ear,
And ruin to himself begot,
The parricidal Oedipus, who joined
A frenzied bond in most unholy kind,
Sowing where he was sown; whence sprung a bud
Of bitterness and blood.

ANTISTROPHE III.
The city tosses to and fro,
Like a drifted ship; wave after wave,
Now high, now low, with triple-crested flow
Now reared sublime, brays round the plunging prow.
These walls are but a plank: if the kings fall
'Tis ruin to us all.

STROPHE IV.
The ancestral curse, the hoary doom is ripe.
Who now shall smooth such hate?
What hand shall stay, when it hath willed to strike,
The uplifted arm of Fate?
When the ship creaks beneath the straining gale,
The wealthy merchant[f18] flings the well-stowed bale
Into the gulf below.[f19]

ANTISTROPHE IV.
When the enigma of the baleful Sphynx
By Oedipus was read,
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And the man-rending monster on a stone
Despairful dashed her head;
What mortal man by herd-possessing men,
What god by gods above was honoured then,
Like Oedipus below!

STROPHE V.
But when his soul was conscious, and he saw
The monstrous wedlock made 'gainst Nature's law,
Him struck dismay,
In wild deray,
He from their socket roots uptore
His eyes, more dear than children, worthy no more
To look upon the day.

ANTISTROPHE V.
And he, for sorry tendance wrathful,[n41] flung
Curses against his sons with bitter tongue,
"THEY SHALL DISPUTE
A DIRE DISPUTE,
AND SHARE THEIR LAND WITH STEEL." I fear
The threatened harm; with boding heart I hear
The Fury's sleepless foot.

[_Re-enter_ MESSENGER.

MESSENGER. Fear not, fair maids of Theban mothers nursed! The city hath 'scaped the yoke; the insolent boasts Of violent men hath fallen; the ship o' the state Is safe; in sunshine calm we float; in vain Hath wave on wave lashed our sure-jointed beams, No leaky gap our close-lipped timbers knew, Our champions with safety hedged us round, Our towers stand firm. Six of the seven gates Show all things prosperous; the seventh Phœbus Chose for his own (for still in four and three The god delights),[n42] he led the seventh pair, Crowning the doom of evil-counselled Laius.

CHORUS. What sayst thou? What new ills to ancient Thebes?

MESSENGER. Two men are dead--by mutual slaughter slain.

CHORUS. Who?--what?--my wit doth crack with apprehension.

MESSENGER. Hear soberly: the sons of Oedipus--

CHORUS. O wretched me! true prophet of true woe.

MESSENGER. Too true. They lie stretched in the dust.

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CHORUS. Sayst so? Sad tale! yet must I school mine ears to hear it.

MESSENGER. Brother by brother's hand untimely slain.

CHORUS. The impartial god smote equally the twain.

MESSENGER. A wrathful god the luckless race destroys, And I for plaints no less than pæans bring thee[n43] Plentiful food. The state now stands secure, But the twin rulers, with hard-hammered steel, Have sharply portioned all their heritage, By the dire curse to sheer destruction hurried. What land they sought they find it in the grave, The hostile kings in one red woe are brothered; The soil that called them lord hath drunk their blood. [_Exit._

CHORUS.
O Jove almighty! gods of Cadmus,
By whose keeping Thebes is strong,
Shall I sing a joyful pæan,
Thee the god full-throated hymning
That saved the state from instant harm?
Or shall drops of swelling pity
To a wail invert my ditty?
O wretched, hapless, childless princes!
Truly, truly was his name
Prophet of your mutual shame![f20]
Godless was the strife ye cherished,
And in godless strife ye perished!

CHORAL HYMN.
STROPHE I.
The curse that rides on sable wing,
Hath done its part,
And horror, like a creeping thing,
Freezes my heart.
Their ghastly death in kindred blood
Doth pierce me thorough,
And deeply stirs the Thyad flood[f21]
Of wail and sorrow.
An evil bird on boding wing
Did darkly sway,
When steel on steel did sternly ring
In strife to-day.

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ANTISTROPHE I.
The voice that from the blind old king
With cursing came,
In rank fulfilment forth doth bring
Its fruit of shame.
O Laius, thou didst work our woe
With faithless heart;
Nor Phœbus with a half-dealt blow
Will now depart.
His word is sure, or pacing slow,
Or winged with speed,
And now the burthened cloud of woe,
Bursts black indeed.

[_The bodies of_ ETEOCLES _and_ POLYNICES _are brought on the stage._

EPODE.
Lo! where it comes the murky pomp,
No wandering voice, but clear, too clear
The visible body of our fear!
Twin-faced sorrow, twin-faced slaughter,
And twin-fated woe is here.
Ills on ills of monstrous birth
Rush on Laius' god-doom'd-hearth.

Sisters raise the shrill lament,
Let your lifted arms be oars!
Let your sighs be breezes lent,
Down the wailing stream to float
The black-sail'd Stygian boat;
Down to the home which all receiveth,
Down to the land which no man leaveth,
By Apollo's foot untrodden,
Sullen, silent, sunless shores!

But I see the fair Ismene,
And Antigone the fair,
Moving to this place of mourning,
Slow, a sorrow-guided pair.
We shall see a sight for weeping
(They obey a doleful hest)
Lovely maids deep-bosomed pouring
Wails from heavy-laden breast.
Chaunts of sorrow, dismal prelude
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Of their grief, to us belong:
Let us hymn the dread Erinnys!
To the gloomy might of Hades,
Let us lift the sombre song.

[_Enter_ ANTIGONE _and_ ISMENE _in sorrowful silence._

Hapless sisters! maids more hapless
Ne'er were girded with a zone:
I weep, and wail, and mine, believe me,
Is a heart's sigh, no hireling moan.[f22]

[_Here commences the Funeral Wail over the dead bodies of_ ETEOCLES
_and_ POLYNICES _with mournful music._

STROPHE I.
SEMI-CHORUS 1.
Alas! alas! the hapless pair.
To friendly voice and warning Fate
They stopped the ear: and now too late
Dear bought with blood their father's wealth
In death they share.

SEMI-CHORUS 2.
Outstretched in death, and prostrate low
Them and their house the iron Woe
Hath sternly crushed.

ANTISTROPHE I.
SEMI-CHORUS 1.
Alas! alas! the old thrones reel,
The lofty palace topples down;
And Death hath won a bloody crown,
And thou sure end of strife hast made,
O keen cold steel!

SEMI-CHORUS 2.
And, with fulfilment on her wing,
Curse-laden from the blind old king
The Fury rushed.

STROPHE II.
SEMI-CHORUS 1.
Pierced through the left, with gaping gashes
Gory they lie.

SEMI-CHORUS 2.
All gashed and gored, by fratricidal
Wounds they die.

SEMI-CHORUS 1.
* * * *
* * * *

SEMI-CHORUS 2.
A god, a god doth rule the hour,
Slaughter meets slaughter, and the curse
Doth reign with power.

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SEMI-CHORUS 1.
See where the steel clean through hath cut
Their bleeding life,
Even to the marrow deep hath pierced
The ruthless knife.

SEMI-CHORUS 2.
Deep in their silent hearts they cherished
The fateful curse,
And, with fell purpose sternly hating,
Defied remorse.

ANTISTROPHE II.
SEMI-CHORUS 1.
From street to street shrill speeds the cry
Of wail and woe.

SEMI-CHORUS 2.
And towers and peopled plains reply
With wail and woe.

SEMI-CHORUS 1.
And all their wealth a stranger heir
Shall rightly share.

SEMI-CHORUS 2.
The wealth that waked the deadly strife,
The strife that raged till rage and strife
Ceased with their life.

SEMI-CHORUS 1.
With whetted heart, and whetted glaive,
They shared the lot;
Victor and vanquished each in the grave
Six feet hath got.

SEMI-CHORUS 2.
A harsh allotment! who shall praise it,
Friend or foe?
Harsh strife in pride begun, and ending
In wail and woe.

STROPHE III.
SEMI-CHORUS 1.
Sword-stricken here they lie, they lie
A breathless pair.

SEMI-CHORUS 2.
Sword-stricken here they find, they find
What home, and where?

SEMI-CHORUS 1.
A lonely home, a home of gloom
In their fathers' tomb.

SEMI-CHORUS 2.
And wailing follows from the halls
The dismal bier;
Wailing and woe the heart-strings breaking,
And sorrow from its own self taking
The food it feeds on, moody sadness,
Shunning all sights and sounds of gladness,
And from the eye spontaneous bringing
No practised tear;
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My heart within me wastes, beholding
This dismal bier.

ANTISTROPHE III.
SEMI-CHORUS 1.
And on the bier we drop the tear
And justly say,

SEMI-CHORUS 2.
To friend and foe, they purchased woe
And wail to-day.

SEMI-CHORUS 1.
And to Hades showed full many the road
In the deadly fray.

SEMI-CHORUS 2.
O ill-starred she!--there hath not been
Nor will be more,
Of sore-tried women children-bearing,
One like her, like sorrow sharing.
With her own body's fruit she joined
Wedlock in most unholy kind,
And to her son, twin sons the mother,
O monstrous! bore:
And here they lie, by brother brother
Now drenched in gore.

STROPHE IV.
SEMI-CHORUS 1.
Ay, drenched in gore, in brothered gore,[n44]
Weltering they lie;
Mad was the strife, and sharp the knife
That bade them die.

SEMI-CHORUS 2.
The strife hath ceased: life's purple flood
The dry Earth drinks;
And kinsman's now to kinsman's blood
Keen slaughter links.
The far sea stranger forged i' the fire
The pointed iron soothed their ire.
A bitter soother! Mars hath made
A keen division
Of all their lands, and lent swift wing
To the curse that came from the blind old king
With harsh completion.

ANTISTROPHE IV.
SEMI-CHORUS 1.
They strove for land, and did demand
An equal share;
In the ground deep, deep, where now they sleep,
There's land to spare.

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SEMI-CHORUS 2.
A goodly crop to you hath grown
Of woe and wailing;
Ye reaped the seed by Laius sown,
The god prevailing.
Shrill yelled the curse, a deathful shout,
And scattered sheer in hopeless rout
The kingly race did fall; and lo!
Fell Até planteth
Her trophy at the gate; and there
Triumphant o'er the princely pair
Her banner flaunteth.

[ANTIGONE _and_ ISMENE _now come forward, and standing beside the dead
bodies, pointing now to the one, and now to the other, finish the Wail
as chief mourners._

PRELUDE. ANTIGONE. Wounded, thou didst wound again.

ISMENE.
Thou didst slay, and yet wert slain.

ANTIGONE.
Thou didst pierce him with the spear.

ISMENE.
Deadly-pierced thou liest here.

ANTIGONE.
Sons of sorrow!

ISMENE.
Sons of pain!

ANTIGONE.
Break out grief!

ISMENE.
Flow tears amain!

ANTIGONE.
Weep the slayer.

ISMENE.
And the slain.

STROPHE. ANTIGONE. Ah! my soul is mad with moaning.

ISMENE.
And my heart within is groaning.

ANTIGONE.
O thrice-wretched, wretched brother!

ISMENE.
Thou more wretched than the other!

ANTIGONE.
Thine own kindred pierced thee thorough.

ISMENE.
And thy kin was pierced by thee.

ANTIGONE.
Sight of sadness!

ISMENE.
Tale of sorrow!

ANTIGONE.
Deadly to say!

ISMENE.
Deadly to see!

ANTIGONE.
We with you the sorrow bear.

ISMENE.
And twin woes twin sisters share.

CHORUS.
Alas! alas!
Moera, baneful gifts dispensing[n45]
To the toilsome race of mortals,
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Now prevails thy murky hour:
Shade of Oedipus thrice sacred,
Night-clad Fury, dread Erinnys,
Mighty, mighty is thy power!

ANTISTROPHE. ANTIGONE. Food to feed the eyes with mourning,

ISMENE.
Exile sad, more sad returning!

ANTIGONE.
Slain wert thou, when thou hadst slain.

ISMENE.
Found wert thou and lost again.

ANTIGONE.
Lost, in sooth, beyond reprieving.

ISMENE.
Life-bereft and life-bereaving.

ANTIGONE.
Race of Laius, woe is thee!

ISMENE.
Woe, and wail, and misery!

ANTIGONE.
Woe, woe, thy fatal name!

ISMENE.
Prophet of our triple shame.

ANTIGONE.
Deadly to say!

ISMENE.
Deadly to see!

CHORUS.
Alas! alas!
Moera, baneful gifts dispensing
To the toilsome race of mortals,
Now prevails thy murky hour;
Shade of Oedipus thrice sacred,
Night-clad Fury, dread Erinnys,
Mighty, mighty is thy power.

EPODE. ANTIGONE. Thou hast marched a distant road.

ISMENE.
Thou hast gone to the dark abode.

ANTIGONE.
Cruel welcome met thee here.

ISMENE.
Falling by thy brother's spear.

ANTIGONE.
Deadly to say!

ISMENE.
Deadly to see!

ANTIGONE.
Woe and wailing.

ISMENE.
Wail and woe!

ANTIGONE.
To my home and to my country.

ISMENE.
And to me much wail and woe.

ANTIGONE.
Chief woe to me!

ISMENE.
Weeping and woe!

ANTIGONE.
Alas! Eteocles, laid thus low!

ISMENE.
O thrice woe-worthy pair!

ANTIGONE.
A god, a god, hath dealt the blow!

ISMENE.
Where shall they find their clay-cold lair?

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ANTIGONE.
An honoured place their bones shall keep.

ISMENE.
With their fathers they shall sleep.

[_Enter_ HERALD.

HERALD. Hear ye my words--my herald's voice declaring What seemed and seems good to the Theban senate. Eteocles, his country's friend, shall find Due burial in its friendly bosom.[n46] He Is free from sin against the gods of Cadmus, And died, the champion of his country's cause, As generous youths should die. Severer doom Falls on his brother Polynices. He Shall lie in the breeze unburied, food for dogs, Most fit bestowal of a traitor's corpse; For, had some god not stept between to save us, And turned the spear aside, Cadméan Thebes Had stood no more. His country's gods demand Such stern atonement of the impious will That led a hireling host against their shrines. On him shall vultures banquet, ravening birds His flesh shall tear; no pious hand shall pile The fresh green mound, no wailing notes for him Be lifted shrill, no tearful friends attend His funeral march. Thus they who rule in Thebes Have strictly ordered.

ANTIGONE. Go thou back, and give This message to the rulers.--If none other Will grant the just interment to my brother Myself will bury him. The risk I reck not, Nor blush to call rebellion's self a virtue, Where I rebel, being kind to my own kin. Our common source of life, a mother doomed To matchless woes, nor less the father doomed, Demand no vulgar reverence. I will share Reproach with the reproached, and with my kin Know kindred grief, the living with the dead. For his dear flesh, no hollow-stomach'd wolves Shall tear it--no! myself, though I'm but woman, Will make his tomb, and do the sacred office. Even in this bosom's linen folds, I'll bear Enough of earth to cover him withal. This thing I'll do. I will. For bold resolves Still find bold hands; the purpose makes the plan.

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HERALD. When Thebes commands, 'tis duty to obey.

ANTIGONE. When ears are deaf, 'tis wisdom to be dumb.

HERALD. Fierce is a people with young victory flushed.

ANTIGONE. Fierce let them be; he shall not go unburied.

HERALD. What? wilt thou honour whom the city hates?

ANTIGONE. And did the gods not honour whom I honour?

HERALD. Once: ere he led the spear against his country.

ANTIGONE. Evil entreatment he repaid with evil.

HERALD. Should thousands suffer for the fault of one?

ANTIGONE. Strife is the last of gods to end her tale; My brother I will bury. Make no more talk.

HERALD. Be wilful, if thou wilt. I counsel wisdom.

CHORUS.
Mighty Furies that triumphant
Ride on ruin's baleful wings,[n47]
Crushed ye have and clean uprooted
This great race of Theban kings.
Who shall help me? Who shall give me,
Sure advice, and counsel clear?
Shall mine eyes freeze up their weeping?
Shall my feet refuse to follow
Thy loved remnant? but I fear
Much the rulers, and their mandate
Sternly sanctioned. Shall it be?
Him shall many mourners follow?
Thee, rejected by thy country,
Thee no voice of wailing nears,
All thy funeral march a sister
Weeping solitary tears?

[_The_ CHORUS _now divides itself into two parts, of which one
attaches itself to_ ANTIGONE _and the corpse of_ POLYNICES; _the
other to_ ISMENE _and the corpse of_ ETEOCLES.

SEMI-CHORUS.
Let them threaten, or not threaten,
We will drop the friendly tear,
With the pious-minded sister,
We will tend the brother's bier.
And though public law forbids
These tears, free-shed for public sorrow,
Laws oft will change, and in one state
What's right to-day is wrong to morrow.

SEMI-CHORUS.
For us we'll follow, where the city
And the law of Cadmus leads us,
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To the funeral of the brave.
By the aid of Jove Supernal,
And the gods that keep the city,
Mighty hath he been to save;
He hath smote the proud invader,
He hath rolled the ruin backward
Of the whelming Argive wave.

[The End]

THE PERSIANS

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A HISTORICAL CANTATA

"Why should calamity be full of words? Windy attorneys to their client woes, Airy succeeders of intestate joys, Poor breathing orators of miseries! Let them have scope; though what they do in part Help nothing else, yet they do ease the heart." SHAKESPERE.

Ὦ θείη Σαλαμὶς. ἀπολεῖς δὲ σὺ τέκνα γυναικῶν.
DELPHIC ORACLE.

PERSONS

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CHORUS OF PERSIAN ELDERS. ATOSSA, Mother of Xerxes. MESSENGER. SHADE OF DARIUS, Father of Xerxes. XERXES, King of Persia.

SCENE--_Before the Palace at Susa. Tomb of Darius in the background._

INTRODUCTORY REMARKS

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THE piece, on the perusal of which the reader is now about to enter, stands unique among the extant remains of the ancient drama, as drawing its materials from the historical, not the mythological, age of the Greek people. We are not, from this fact, to conclude that the Greeks, or the ancients generally, drew a more strict boundary line between the provinces of history and poetry, than the moderns. Such an inference were the very reverse of the fact, as the whole style of ancient history on the one hand, and the examples of Ennius and Lucan in poetry, sufficiently show. Not even within the special domain of the Greek stage is our one extant example the only historical drama of which the records of Hellenic literature have preserved the memory; on the contrary, one of the old arguments of the present play expressly testifies that Phrynichus, a contemporary of Æschylus, had written a play on the same subject; and we know, from other sources, that the same dramatist had exhibited on the stage, with the most powerful effect, the capture of the city of Miletus, which took place only a few years before the battle of Marathon.[f1] There was a plain reason, however, why, with all this, historical subjects should, in the general case, have been excluded from the range of the Greek dramatic poetry; and that reason was, the religious character which, as we have previously shown, belonged so essentially to the tragic exhibitions of the Hellenes. That religious character necessarily directed the eye of the tragic poet to those ages in the history of his country, when the gods held more familiar and open converse with men, and to those exploits which were performed by Jove-descended heroes in olden time, under the express sanction, and with the special inspiration, of Heaven. Had a characteristically Christian drama arisen, at an early period, out of the festal celebrations of the Church, the sacred poets of such a drama would, in the same way, have confined themselves to strictly scriptural themes, or to themes belonging to the earlier and more venerable traditions of the Church.

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With regard to the subject of the present drama, there can be no doubt that, like the fall of Napoleon at Moscow, Leipzig, and Waterloo, in these latter days, so in ancient history there is no event more suited for the purposes of poetry than the expedition of Xerxes into Greece. There is "a beginning, a middle, and an end," in this story, which might satisfy the critical demands of the sternest Aristotle; a moral also, than which no sermon ever preached from Greek stage or Christian pulpit is better calculated to tame the foolish pride, and to purify the turbid passions of humanity. In ancient and modern times, accordingly, from Chœrilus to Glover, the whole, or part of this subject has been treated, as its importance seemed to demand, epically;[f2] but of all the poetical glorifications of this high theme, that of Æschylus has alone succeeded in asserting for itself a permanent niche in the library of that select poetry which belongs to all times and all places.

Of the battle of Salamis and the expedition of Xerxes, as an historical event, it must be unnecessary for me to say a single word here, entitled, as I am, to presume that no reader of the plays of Æschylus can be ignorant of the main facts, and the tremendous moral significance of that event. I shall only mention, for the sake of those whose memory is not well exercised in chronology, that it took place in the autumn of the year 480 before Christ, ten years after the battle of Marathon, thirty years after the expulsion of the Tarquins from Rome, and eighty years after the foundation of the great Persian empire by Cyrus the great. Those who wish to read the descriptions of the poet with complete interest and satisfaction should peruse the 38th, 39th, 40th, and 41st chapters (Vol. V.), of Mr. GROTE's great work; and, if possible, also, the 7th and 8th books of Herodotus.[f3]

On the poetical merit of the Persians, as a work of art, a great authority, Schlegel, has pronounced that it is "undoubtedly the most imperfect of all the extant tragedies of this poet;" but, unless the historical theme be the stumbling-block, I really cannot see on what ground this judgment proceeds. As for the descriptive parts, the battle of Salamis, and the retreat of the routed monarch, are pictured with a vividness and a power to which nothing in this massive and manly author is superior; the interest to the reader being increased tenfold by the fact, that he is here dealing with a real event of the most important character, and recited by one of the best qualified {299} of eye-witnesses. The moral of the piece, as already stated, is, in every respect, what in a great drama or epos could be desired; and, with respect to the lyrics, the Anapæstic march, and the choral chaunt in Ionic measure, with which it opens, has about it a breadth, a magnificence, and a solemnity surpassed only in the choral hymns of the Agamemnon. Not less effective, to an ancient audience, I am sure, must have been the grand antiphonal chaunt with which (as in The Seven against Thebes) the variously repeated wail of this tragedy is brought to a climax; and if the Bishop of London, and some other scholars, have thought this sad exhibition of national lamentation ridiculous, we ought to believe that these critics have forgot the difference between a modern reader and an ancient spectator, rather than that so great a master as Æschylus did not know how to distinguish between a tragedy and a farce.

In common with other historical poems, the Persians of Æschylus is not altogether free from the fault of bringing our imaginative faculty into collision with our understanding, by a partial suppression or exaggeration of historical truth. In the way of suppression, the most noticeable thing is, that the slave of Themistocles, who is described as having, by a false report to Xerxes, brought on the battle of Salamis, appears, according to the poet, to have cheated the Persians only; whereas, according to the real story, he cheated his countrymen also, and forced them to fight in that place against the will of the non-Athenian members of the confederation. In the way of exaggeration, again, GROTE, in an able note,[f4] has shown what appear to me valid reasons for disbelieving the fact of the freezing of the Strymon, and its sudden thaw, described so piteously by our poet; while the very nature of the case plainly shows that the whole circumstances of the retreat, coming to us through Greek reporters, were very liable to exaggeration. This, however, in a poetical description, is a small matter. What appears to me much worse, and, indeed, the weakest point in the structure of the whole drama, is that the contrast between the character and conduct of Darius and that of his son is drawn in colours much too strong; the fact being that the son, in following the advice of Mardonius to attack Athens, was only carrying into execution the design of the father, and making use of his preparations.[f5] All that I have to say in defence of this misrepresentation is, that the poet wrote with a glowing patriotic heat what we now contemplate with a cold historical criticism. The greatest works of the greatest masters can, as {300} human nature is constituted, seldom be altogether free from inconsistencies of this kind.

I have only further to add, that I have carefully read what WELCKER and GRUPPE[f6] have written on the supposed ideal connection between the four pieces of the tetralogy, among which the Persians stands second, in the extant Greek argument;[f7] but that, while I admire exceedingly the learning and ingenuity of these writers, I doubt much the utility of attempting to restore the palaces of ancient art out of those few loose bricks which Time has spared us from the once compact mass. Poetry may be benefited by such speculations; Philology, I rather fear, has been injured.

THE PERSIANS

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[CHORUS, _entering the Orchestra in procession. March time._

CHORUS. We are the Persian watchmen old, The guardians true of the palace of gold, Left to defend the Asian land, When the army marched to Hellas' strand; Elders chosen by Xerxes the king, The son of Darius, to hold the reins, Till he the conquering host shall bring Back to Susa's sunny plains. But the spirit within me is troubled and tossed, When I think of the King and the Persian host; And my soul, dark-stirred with the prophet's mood, Bodes nothing good. For the strength of the Asian land went forth, And my heart cries out for the young king's worth That marshalled them on to the war:[f8] Nor herald, nor horseman, nor wandering fame, Since then to the towers of the Persian came. From Susa and from Ecbatana far, And from the Cissian fortress old,[f9] Strong in the ordered ranks of war Forth they went, the warriors bold; Horseman and footman and seaman went, A vast and various armament. Amistres, Artaphrenes, led the van, Megabátes, Astaspes, obeyed the ban; Persian leaders, kings from afar Followed the great King's call to the war. Forth they went with arrow and bow,[n1] And in clattering turms with chivalrous show; To the eye of the dastard a terrible sight, And with constancy mailed for the fight. Artembáres in steeds delighting, Imaeus the foe with the sure arrow smiting, Pharandáces, Masistres, Sosthánes in war {302} Who lashes the steed, and drives the car. The mighty and many-nurturing Nile Sent forth many a swarthy file; Susiscánes and Egypt's son Pegastágon lead them on. Arsámes the mighty, whose word commands The strength of the sacred Memphian bands, And Ariomardus brave, whose sway The sons of Ogygian[f10] Thebes obey. And the countless host with sturdy oar That plough the lagoons of the slimy shore,[f11] And the Lydians march in luxurious pride, And the tribes of the continent far and wide Whom Arcteus and valiant Metragathes lead, Kings that serve the great King's need; And the men who fight from the sharp-scythed car, Whom golden Sardes[n2] sends to the war; Some with two yoke, some with three, A terrible sight to see. And the sons of sacred Tmolus appear[f12] On free-necked Hellas to lay the yoke, Mardon and Tharybis, stiff to the spear As the anvil is stiff to the hammer's stroke. And the men of Mysia skilful to throw The well-poised dart,[n3] and they who ride On wide Ocean's swelling tide, A mingled people with motley show From golden Babylon, men who know To point the arrow and bend the bow. The Asian tribes that wear the sword[n4] From far and near The summons hear, And follow the hest of their mighty Lord. All the flower of the Persian youth hath gone, And the land that nursed them is left alone To pine with love's delay; And wives and mothers from day to day, Fearing what birth The time shall bring forth, Fret the long-drawn hours away.

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CHORAL HYMN.
STROPHE I.
Proudly the kingly host,
City-destroying, crossed
Hence to the neighbouring
Contrary coast;
Paving the sea with planks,
Marched he his serried ranks:
Hellè's swift-rushing stream,[f13]
Binding with cord and chain,
Forging a yoke
For the neck of the main.

ANTISTROPHE I.
King of a countless host,
Asia's warlike boast,
Shepherd of many sheep,[n5]
Conquering crossed.
Trusting to men of might,
Footman and harnessed knight;
Son of a golden race,
Strong both by land and sea,
Equal to gods,
Though a mortal was he.

STROPHE II.
His eyes like the dragon's dire
Flashing with dark blue fire,[f14]
See him appear!
Through the long lines of war
Driving the Syrian car,[f15]
Ares in arrows strong
Leading against the strong
Men of the spear!

ANTISTROPHE II.
When wave upon wave of men
Breaks through each Grecian glen,
Whelming the land,
{304}
War like wild Ocean's tide,
What arm shall turn aside?
Persia's stout-hearted race,
Hand to hand, face to face,
Who shall withstand?

MESODE.
But, when the gods deceive,[n6]
Wiles which immortals weave
Who shall beware?
Who, when their nets surround,
Breaks with a nimble bound
Out of the snare?
First they approach with smiles,
Wreathing their hidden wiles:
Then with surprise,
Seize they their prey; and lo!
Writhing in toils of woe
Tangled he lies.

STROPHE III.
Fate hath decreed it so,
Peace, peace, is not for thee!
Persia, hear and know,
War is the lot for thee!
Spake the supernal powers,
Charging of steeds shall be,
Taking of towns and towers,
Persia, to thee!

ANTISTROPHE III.
Where the sea, hoar with wrath,
Roars to the roaring blast,
Daring a doubtful path,
Persian hosts have passed;
Where wave on wave cresting on
Bristles with angry breath,
Cable and plank alone
Part them from death!

STROPHE IV.
Therefore is my soul within me
Murky-mantled, pricked with fear:
Alas! the Persian army! Never
{305}
May such cry invade my ear!
Susa, emptied of her children,
Desolate and drear!

ANTISTROPHE IV.
Never may the Cissian fortress
With such echo split the air;
Spare mine ears the shrieks of women,
And mine eyes the sad sight spare,
When fair hands the costly linen
From gentle bosoms tear!

STROPHE V.
For all our horse with frequent tramp,
And our footmen from the camp,
Even as bees on busy wing,
Swarmed out with the king:
And they paved their briny way,
Where beats the many-mingling spray
The bridge that joins the Thracian strand
To Asian land.[f16]

ANTISTROPHE V.
Wives bedew with many a tear
The couches where the partner dear
Hath been, and is not; Persian wives
Fret with desire their lives.
Far, far, he roams from land to land,
Her restless lord with lance in hand;
She in unmated grief to moan
Is left alone.

But come, ye Persian elders all, Let us seat us beside this ancient hall; Wise counsel to-day let us honestly frame, Touching the fate of the kingly one, Race of our race, and name of our name, Darius' godlike son: For much it concerns us to know Whether the winged shaft shot from the bow, Or the strength of the pointed spear hath won. But lo! where she comes, a moving light, {306} Like the eyes of the god so bright, The mother of Xerxes, my queen. Let us fall down before her with humble prostration,[n7] And greet her to-day with a fair salutation, The mother of Xerxes, my queen. [_To_ ATOSSA, _entering_.] Mistress of the low-zoned women, queen of Persia's daughters, hail! Aged mother of King Xerxes, wife of great Darius, hail! Spouse of him who was a god, and of a present god the mother, If the ancient bliss that crowned it hath not left the Persian host.

[_Enter_ ATOSSA, _drawn with royal pomp in a chariot._

ATOSSA. Even this hath moved me, leaving these proud golden-garnished halls, And the common sleeping chamber of Darius and myself, Here to come. Sharp fear within me pricks my heart; I will declare All the thoughts that deep perplex me to my friends; the secret fear Lest our pride of ramping riches kick our sober weal in the dust, Scattering wide what wealth Darius gathered, not without a god. Twofold apprehension moves me, when I ponder this old truth; Without men much riches profit little; without wealth the state, Though in numbers much abounding, may not look on joyous light. Riches are a thing not evil; but I tremble for the eye, And the eye I call the presence of the master in the house.[f17] Ye have heard my sorrows; make me sharer of your counsel now, In what matter I shall tell you, ancient, trusty Persian men; For with you my whole of wisdom, all my healthy counsels dwell.

CHORUS. Mistress of this land, believe it, never shalt thou ask a kindness, Be it word from us or action, twice, while power shall aid the will; We are willing to advise thee in this matter, what we may.

{307}

ATOSSA. Since when my son departed with the army, To bring destruction on Ionia,[f18] scarcely One night hath been that did not bring me dreams; But yesternight, with figurement most clear, I dreamt; hear thou the theme. Methought I saw Two women richly dight, in Persian robes The one, the other in a Dorian dress, Both tall above the vulgar stature, both Of beauty blameless, and descended both From the same race. The one on Hellas dwelt, The other on fair Asia's continent. Between these twain some strife there seemed to rise; Which when my son beheld, forthwith he seized them, And joined them to his car, and made their necks Submissive to the yoke. The one uptowered In pride of harness, as rejoiced to follow The kingly rein. The other kicked and plunged, And tossed the gear away, and broke the traces, The yoke in sunder snapt, and from the car Ran reinless. On the ground my son was thrown, And to his aid Darius pitying came, Whom when he saw, my Xerxes rent his robes. Such was my vision of the night; the morn Brought a new portent with it. When I rose, And dipped my hands in the fair-flowing fount,[f8] And to the altar of the averting gods, To whom such right pertains, with sacred cake In sacrificial ministry advanced, I saw an eagle flying to the altar[n9] Of Phœbus; there all mute with fear I stood; And after it in swiftest flight I saw A hawk that darted on the eagle's head, And tore it with his claws, the royal bird Yielding his glory meekly to be plucked. These things I saw in fear, as ye in fear Must hear them. Ye know well, my son commands Supreme in Persia. Should success attend him, 'Tis well; but should mischance o'ertake him, he Will rule in Susa as he ruled before; No power is here to whom he owes account.

CHORUS. We advise thee, mother, neither with the feeble words of fear, {308} Nor with boastful courage. Turn thee to the gods in supplication: Theirs it is to ward fulfilment of all evil-omened sights, Bringing good to full fruition for thyself and for thy children, For the city and all that love thee. Then a pure libation pour To the Earth and to the Manes; with especial honor pray The dread Shade of thy Darius whom thou sawest in the night, To send blessings on thy Xerxes in the gladness of the day, Keeping back unblissful sorrows in the sightless gloom of death. Thus my soul its own diviner[f19] with a friendly kind concern Counsels. Doubtless time will perfect happy fates for thee and thine.

ATOSSA. Truly, with a friendly reading thou hast read my mid-night*** dreams, Words of strengthening solace speaking to my son and to my house. May the gods all blessing perfect. I to them, as thou hast said, And the Shades, the well-beloved, will perform befitting rites, In the palace; meanwhile tell me this, for I would gladly know Where, O friends, is famous Athens on the broad face of the Earth?[n10]

CHORUS. Far in the west: beside the setting of the lord of light the sun.

ATOSSA. This same Athens, my son Xerxes longed with much desire to take.

CHORUS. Wisely: for all Greece submissive, when this city falls, will fall.

ATOSSA. Are they many? do they number men enough to meet my son?

CHORUS. What they number was sufficient once to work the Medes much harm.

ATOSSA. Other strength than numbers have they? wealth enough within themselves?

CHORUS. They can boast a fount of silver, native treasure to the land.[f20]

{309}

ATOSSA. Are they bowmen good? sure-feathered do their pointed arrows fly?

CHORUS. Not so. Stable spears they carry, massy armature of shields.

ATOSSA. Who is shepherd of this people? lord of the Athenian host?

CHORUS. Slaves are they to no man living, subject to no earthly name.[n11]

ATOSSA. How can such repel the onset of a strong united host?

CHORUS. _How_ Darius knew in Hellas, when he lost vast armies there.

ATOSSA. Things of deep concern thou speakest to all mothers in this land.

CHORUS. Thou shalt know anon exactly more than I can guess, for lo! Here comes one--a hasty runner--he should be a Persian man. News, I wis, this herald bringeth of deep import, good or bad.

[_Enter_ MESSENGER.

MESSENGER. O towns and cities of wide Asia, O Persian land, wide harbour of much wealth, How hath one stroke laid all thy grandeur low, One frost nipt all thy bloom! Woe's me that I Should be first bearer of bad news! but strong Necessity commands to speak the truth. Persians, the whole barbaric host hath perished.

STROPHE I.
CHORUS.
O misery! misery, dark and deep!
Dole and sorrow and woe!
Weep, ye Persians! wail and weep,
For wounds that freshly flow!

MESSENGER. All, all is ruined: not a remnant left. Myself, against all hope, see Persia's sun.

ANTISTROPHE I.
CHORUS.
O long, too long, through creeping years
Hath the life of the old man lasted,
To see--and nurse his griefs with tears--
The hopes of Persia blasted!

MESSENGER. I speak no hearsay: what these eyes beheld Of blackest evil, Persians, I declare.

{310}

STROPHE II.
CHORUS.
Ah me! all in vain against Hellas divine
Were the twanging bow and whizzing reed,
All vainly mustered the thickly clustered
Armies of the Mede!

MESSENGER. The shores of Salamis, and all around With the thick bodies of our dead are peopled.

ANTISTROPHE II.
CHORUS.
Alas! the wreck of the countless host!
The sundered planks, and the drifted dead,[n12]
Rocked to and fro, with the ebb and the flow
On a wavy-wandering bed!

MESSENGER. Vain were our shafts; our mighty multitude Vanished before their brazen-beaked attack.

STROPHE III.
CHORUS.
Sing ye, sing ye a sorrowful song,
Lift ye, lift ye a piercing cry!
Our harnessed throng and armies strong
Lost and ruined utterly!

MESSENGER. O hated name to hear, sad Salamis! O Athens, I remember thee with groans.

ANTISTROPHE III.
CHORUS.
O Athens, Athens, thou hast reft us
Of our all we did possess!
Sonless mothers thou hast left us,
Weeping wives and husbandless!

ATOSSA. Thou see'st I have kept silence: this sad stroke Hath struck me dumb, as powerless to give voice To my own sorrows, as to ask another's. Yet when the gods send trouble, mortal men Must learn to bear it. Therefore be thou calm; Unfold the perfect volume of our woes, And, though the memory grieve thee, let us hear Thy tale to the end; what loss demands our tears, Which of the baton-bearing chiefs[f21] hath left An army to march home without a head.

MESSENGER. Xerxes yet lives, and looks on the light.

ATOSSA. Much light In this to me, and to my house thou speakest, A shining day from out a pitchy night.

{311}

MESSENGER. Artembares, captain of ten thousand horse, Upon the rough Silenian shores[f22] lies dead, And Dadaces, the chiliarch, spear-struck fell Precipitate from his ship--an easy leap; And noble Tenagon, a pure Bactrian born, Around the sea-lashed isle of Ajax floats. Lilaeus, Arsames, Argestes, these The waves have made their battering ram, to beat The hard rocks of the turtle-nurturing isle. Pharnuchus, Pheresseues, and Adeues, And Arcteus from their native Nile-spring far Fell from one ship into one grave. Matallus, The Chrysian myriontarch, who led to Hellas Full thrice ten thousand sable cavalry, His thick and bushy beard's long tawny pride Hath dyed in purple gore. The Magian Arabus The Bactrian Artames on the self-same shore Have found no cushioned lodgment.[f23] There Amestris,[n13] And there Amphistreus, wielder of the spear, And there Metragathes lies, for whom the Sardians Weep well-earned tears; and Sersames, the Mysian. With them, of five times fifty ships commander, Lyrnaean Tharybis, a goodly man, Lies hopeless stretched on the unfriendly strand. Syennesis, the brave Cilician chief Who singly wrought more trouble to the foe Than thousands, died with a brave man's report. These names I tell thee of the chiefs that fell, A few selecting out of many losses.

ATOSSA. Alas! alas! more than enough I hear; Shame to the Persians and shrill wails. But say, Retracing thy discourse, what was the number Of the Greek ships that dared with Persia's fleet To engage, and grapple beak to beak.

MESSENGER. If number Of ships might gain the fight, believe me, queen, The victory had been ours. The Greeks could tell But ten times thirty ships, with other ten, Of most select equipment. Xerxes numbered A thousand ships, two hundred sail and seven Of rapid wing beside. Of this be assured, {312} What might of man could do was done to save us; Some god hath ruined us, not weighing justly An equal measure. Pallas saves her city.[n14]

ATOSSA. The city? is it safe? does Athens stand?

MESSENGER. It stands without the fence of walls. Men wall it.

ATOSSA. But say, who first commenced the fight--the Greeks Or, in his numbers strong, my kingly son.

MESSENGER. Some evil god, or an avenging spirit,[f24] Began the fray. From the Athenian fleet There came a Greek,[n15] and thus thy son bespoke. "Soon as the gloom of night shall fall, the Greeks No more will wait, but, rushing to their oars, Each man will seek his safety where he may, By secret flight." This Xerxes heard, but knew not The guile of Greece, nor yet the jealous gods, And to his captains straightway gave command That, when the sun withdrew his burning beams, And darkness filled the temple of the sky,[n16] In triple lines their ships they should dispose, Each wave-plashed outlet guarding, fencing round The isle of Ajax surely. Should the Greeks Deceive this guard, or with their ships escape In secret flight, each captain with his head Should pay for his remissness. These commands With lofty heart, thy son gave forth, nor thought What harm the gods were weaving. They obeyed. Each man prepared his supper, and the sailors Bound the lithe oar to its familiar block. Then, when the sun his shining glory paled, And night swooped down, each master of the oar, Each marshaller of arms, embarked; and then Line called on line to take its ordered place. All night they cruised, and, with a moving belt, Prisoned the frith, till day 'gan peep, and still No stealthy Greek the expected flight essayed. But when at length the snowy-steeded Day Burst o'er the main, all beautiful to see, First from the Greeks a tuneful shout uprose, Well-omened, and, with replication loud, Leapt the blithe echo from the rocky shore. Fear seized the Persian host, no longer tricked By vain opinion; not like wavering flight {313} Billowed the solemn pæan of the Greeks, But like the shout of men to battle urging, With lusty cheer. Then the fierce trumpet's voice Blazed[f25] o'er the main; and on the salt sea flood Forthwith the oars, with measured plash, descended, And all their lines, with dexterous speed displayed, Stood with opposing front. The right wing first, Then the whole fleet bore down, and straight uprose A mighty shout. "SONS OF THE GREEKS, ADVANCE! YOUR COUNTRY FREE, YOUR CHILDREN FREE, YOUR WIVES! THE ALTARS OF YOUR NATIVE GODS DELIVER, AND YOUR ANCESTRAL TOMBS--ALL'S NOW AT STAKE!" A like salute from our whole line back-rolled In Persian speech. Nor more delay, but straight Trireme on trireme, brazen beak on beak Dashed furious. A Greek ship led on the attack,[f26] And from the prow of a Phœnician struck The figure-head; and now the grapple closed Of each ship with his adverse desperate. At first the main line of the Persian fleet Stood the harsh shock; but soon their multitude Became their ruin; in the narrow frith They might not use their strength, and, jammed together, Their ships with brazen beaks did bite each other, And shattered their own oars. Meanwhile the Greeks Stroke after stroke dealt dexterous all around, Till our ships showed their keels, and the blue sea Was seen no more, with multitude of ships And corpses covered. All the shores were strewn, And the rough rocks, with dead; till, in the end, Each ship in the barbaric host, that yet Had oars, in most disordered flight rowed off. As men that fish for tunnies, so the Greeks, With broken booms, and fragments of the wreck, Struck our snared men, and hacked them, that the sea, With wail and moaning, was possessed around, Till black-eyed Night shot darkness o'er the fray.[f27] These ills thou hearest: to rehearse the whole, Ten days were few; but this, my queen, believe, No day yet shone on Earth whose brightness looked On such a tale of death.

{314}

ATOSSA. A sea of woes On Persia bursts, and all the Persian name!

MESSENGER. Thou hast not heard the half: another woe Remains, that twice outweighs what I have told.

ATOSSA. What worse than this? Say what mischance so strong To hurt us more, being already ruined?

MESSENGER. The bloom of all the Persian youth, in spirit The bravest, and in birth the noblest, princes In whom thy son placed his especial trust, All by a most inglorious doom have perished.

ATOSSA. O wretched me, that I should live to hear it! But by what death did Persia's princes die?

MESSENGER. There is an islet, fronting Salamis, To ships unfriendly, of dance-loving Pan[n17] The chosen haunt, and near the Attic coast. Here Xerxes placed his chiefest men, that when The routed Greeks should seek this strand, our troops Might both aid friends, where friends their aid required, And kill the scattered Greeks, an easy prey; Ill-auguring what should hap! for when the gods Gave to the Greeks the glory of the day,[f28] Straightway well-cased in mail from their triremes They leapt, rushed on the isle, and hedged it round, That neither right nor left our men might turn, But fell in heaps, some struck by rattling stones, Some pierced by arrows from the twanging bow. Then, in one onslaught fiercely massed, the Greeks Our fenceless chiefs in slashing butchery Mowed down, till not one breath remained to groan. But Xerxes groaned: for from a height that rose From the sea-shore conspicuous,[f29] with clear view He mustered the black fortune of the fight. His stole he rent, and lifting a shrill wail Gave the poor remnant of his host command To flee; and fled with them. Lament with me, This second sorrow heaped upon the first.

ATOSSA. O dismal god! how has thy hate deceived The mind of the Mede! A bitter vengeance truly Hath famous Athens wreaked on my poor son, {315} To all the dead that fell at Marathon Adding this slaughter!--O my son! my son! Thyself hast paid the penalty that thou Went to inflict on others!--But let me hear Where hast thou left the few ships that escaped?

MESSENGER. The remnant of the fleet with full sail sped Swift in disordered flight from Salamis. The wreck of the army through Bœotia trailed Its sickly line: there some of thirst fell dead Even in the water's view; some with fatigue Panting toiled on through Phocian land, and Doris, And passed the Melian gulf, where through the plain Spercheius rolls his fructifying flood. Then faint and famished the Achaean land Received us, and fair Thessaly's city; there The most of hunger died and thirst; for with This double plague we struggled. Next Magnesia And Macedonian ground we traversed; then The stream of Axius, reedy Bolbe's mere, The Edonian fields, and the Pangaean hills. But here some god[f30] stirred winter premature, And in the night froze Strymon's holy stream. Then men who never worshipped gods before Called on the heavens and on the Earth to save them, With many prayers, in vain. A few escaped, What few had crossed the ice-compacted flood Ere the strong god of light shot forth his rays. For soon the lustrous orb of day shone out With blazing beams, unbound the stream, and oped Inevitable fate beneath them: then Man upon man in crowded ruin fell, And he was happiest who the soonest died. We who survived, a miserable wreck, Struggled through Thrace slowly with much hard toil,[n18] And stand again on Persian ground, and see Our native hearths. Much cause the city has To weep the loss of her selectest youth. These words are true: much I omit to tell Of all the woes a god hath smote withal Our Persian land.

CHORUS. O sorely-vexing god, How hast thou trampled 'neath no gentle foot The Persian race!

{316}

ATOSSA. Woe's me! the army's lost. O dreamy shapes night wandering, too clearly Your prophecy spoke truth! But you, good Seniors, Sorry expounders though ye be, in one thing I will obey. I will go pray the gods, As ye advised; then gifts I will present To Earth and to the Manes. I will offer, The sacred cake to appease them. For the past, 'Tis past beyond all change; but hope may be To make the gods propitious for the future. Meanwhile your counsel in this need I crave; A faithful man is mighty in mischance. My son, if he shall come ere I return, Cheer him with friendly words, and see him safe, Lest to this ill some worser woe be added. [_Exit._

CHORUS.
O Jove, king Jove destroyed hast thou
Our high-vaunting countless hosts!
Our high-vaunting countless hosts
Where be they now?
Susa's glory, Ecbatana's pride,
In murky sorrow thou didst hide,
And with delicate hands the virgins fair
Their white veils tear,
And salt streams flow from bright fountains of woe,
And rain on the bosoms of snow.
They whose love was fresh and young,
Where are now their husbands strong?
The soft delights of the nuptial bed
With purple spread,
Where, where be they?
They have lost the joy of their jocund years,
And they weep with insatiate tears:
And I will reply with my heart's strong cry,
And lift the doleful lay.

CHORAL HYMN.
STROPHE I.
Asia from each furthest corner
Weeps her woes, a sonless mourner;
Xerxes a wild chase pursuing,
Xerxes led thee to thy ruin;
Xerxes, luckless fancies wooing,
Trimmed vain fleets for thy undoing.
{317}
Not like him the old Darius
Shattered thus from Hellas came;
Rightly he is honoured by us,
Susa's bowman without blame.

ANTISTROPHE I.
Dark-prowed ships that plough wide ocean
With well-poised wings through waves' commotion,
Ships, the countless crews that carried,
In briny death ye saw them buried,
Where the Ionian beaks were dashing,
Where the Persian booms were crashing!
And our monarch scarcely scaping,
Left with life the deathful fray,
Through the plains of Thracia shaping
Sad his bleak and wintry way.

STROPHE II.
But the firstlings of our losses
The Ionian billow tosses,
And Cychréan waves are hurried,
O'er the stranded dead unburied.
Let the sharp grief bite thy marrow,
With thy wailing smite the sky!
Freely voice thy heaving sorrow,
With a weighty burden cry!