470 BC


THE PERSIANS

by Aeschylus


translated by Robert Potter

CHARACTERS IN THE PLAY


ATOSSA, widow of Darius and mother of XERXES

MESSENGER


GHOST OF DARIUS

XERXES


CHORUS OF PERSIAN ELDERS, who compose the Persian Council of State

(SCENE:-Before the Council-Hall of the Persian Kings at Susa. The


tomb of Darius the Great is visible. The time is 480 B.C., shortly

after the battle of Salamis. The play opens with the CHORUS OF


PERSIAN ELDERS singing its first choral lyric.)

CHORUS


While o'er the fields of Greece the embattled troops

Of Persia march with delegated sway,


We o'er their rich and gold-abounding seats

Hold faithful our firm guard; to this high charge


Xerxes, our royal lord, the imperial son

Of great Darius, chose our honour'd age.


But for the king's return, and his arm'd host

Blazing with gold, my soul presaging ill


Swells in my tortured breast: for all her force

Hath Asia sent, and for her youth I sigh.


Nor messenger arrives, nor horseman spurs

With tidings to this seat of Persia's kings.


The gates of Susa and Ecbatana

Pour'd forth their martial trains; and Cissia sees


Her ancient towers forsaken, while her youth,

Some on the bounding steed, the tall bark some


Ascending, some with painful march on foot,

Haste on, to arrange the deep'ning files of war.


Amistres, Artaphernes, and the might

Of great Astaspes, Megabazes bold,


Chieftains of Persia, kings, that, to the power

Of the great king obedient, march with these


Leading their martial thousands; their proud steeds

Prance under them; steel bows and shafts their arms,


Dreadful to see, and terrible in fight,

Deliberate valour breathing in their souls.


Artembares, that in his fiery horse

Delights; Masistress; and Imaeus bold,


Bending with manly strength his stubborn bow;

Pharandaces, and Sosthanes, that drives


With military pomp his rapid steeds.

Others the vast prolific Nile hath sent;


Pegastagon, that from Aegyptus draws

His high birth; Susiscanes; and the chief


That reigns o'er sacred Memphis, great Arsames;

And Ariomardus, that o'er ancient Thebes


Bears the supremedominion; and with these,

Drawn from their watery marshes, numbers train'd


To the stout oar. Next these the Lycian troops,

Soft sons of luxury; and those that dwell


Amid the inland forests, from the sea

Far distant; these Metragathes commands,


And virtuous Arceus, royal chiefs, that shine

In burnish'd gold, and many a whirling car


Drawn by six generous steeds from Sardis lead,

A glorious and a dreadful spectacle.


And from the foot of Tmolus, sacred mount,

Eager to bind on Greece the servile yoke,


Mardon and Tharybis the massy spear

Grasp with unwearied vigour; the light lance


The Mysians shake. A mingled multitude

Swept from her wide dominions skill'd to draw


The unerring bow, in ships Euphrates sends

From golden Babylon. With falchions arm'd


From all the extent of Asia move the hosts

Obedient to their monarch's stern command.


Thus march'd the flower of Persia, whose loved youth

The world of Asia nourish'd, and with sighs


Laments their absence; many an anxious look

Their wives, their parents send, count the slow days,


And tremble at the long-protracted time.

strophe 1


Already o'er the adverse strand

In arms the monarch's martial squadrons spread;


The threat'ning ruin shakes the land,

And each tall city bows its tower'd head.


Bark bound to bark, their wondrous way

They bridge across the indignant sea;


The narrow Hellespont's vex'd waves disdain,

His proud neck taught to wear the chain.


Now has the peopled Asia's warlike lord,

By land, by sea, with foot, with horse,


Resistless in his rapid course,

O'er all their realms his warring thousands pour'd;


Now his intrepid chiefs surveys,

And glitt'ring like a god his radiant state displays.


antistrophe 1

Fierce as the dragon scaled in gold


Through the deep files he darts his glowing eye;

And pleased their order to behold,


His gorgeous standard blazing to the sky,

Rolls onward his Assyrian car,


Directs the thunder of the war,

Bids the wing'd arrows' iron storm advance


Against the slow and cumbrous lance.

What shall withstand the torrent of his sway


When dreadful o'er the yielding shores

The impetuous tide of battle roars,


And sweeps the weak opposing mounds away?

So Persia, with resistless might,


Rolls her unnumber'd hosts of heroes to the fight.

strophe 2


For when misfortune's fraudful hand

Prepares to pour the vengeance of the sky,


What mortal shall her force withstand?

What rapid speed the impending fury fly?


Gentle at first with flatt'ring smiles

She spreads her soft enchanting wiles,


So to her toils allures her destined prey,

Whence man ne'er breaks unhurt away.


For thus from ancient times the Fates ordain

That Persia's sons should greatly dare,


Unequall'd in the works of war;