Unbound the middle current, down they sunk

Each 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 mourns


Her dearest youth. This is no feigned tale:

But many of the ills, that burst upon us


In dreadfulvengeance, 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 show

These 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 guide

Your friends with faithful counsels. Should my son


Return ere I have finish'd, let your voice

Speak comfort to him; friendly to his house


Attend 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 slain

Our 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 deep


The shatter'd wrecks and lifeless heroes lie:

While, from the arms of Greece escaped, with toil


The 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 mournfulstrain,

And let the voice of anguishpierce the sky:-


Or roll beneath the roaring tide,

By monsters rent of touch abhorr'd;


While through the widow'd mansion echoing wide

Sounds the deep groan, and wails its slaughter'd lord:


Pale with his fears the helplessorphan there

Gives the full stream of plaintive grief to flow;


While age its hoary head in deep despair

Bends; 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 straint" target="_blank" title="n.抑制；管束；克制">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 carries

offerings for the tomb of Darius.)


ATOSSA

Whoe'er, my friends, in the rough stream of life


Hath struggled with affliction, thence is taught

That, when the flood begins to swell, the heart


Fondly fears all things; when the fav'ring gale

Of Fortune smooths the current, it expands


With unsuspecting confidence, and deems

That gale shall always breathe. So to my eyes


All things now wear a formidable shape,

And threaten from the gods: my ears are pierced


With sounds far other than of song. Such ills

Dismay my sick'ning soul: hence from my house


Nor glitt'ring car attends me, nor the train

Of wonted state, while I return, and bear


Libations soothing to the father's shade

In the son's cause; delicious milk, that foams


White from the sacredheifer; liquid honey,

Extract of flowers; and from its virgin fount


The runningcrystal; this pure draught, that flow'd

From the ancient vine, of power to bathe the spirits


In joy; the yellow olive's fragrant fruit,

That glories in its leaves' unfading verdure;