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    Delphi Complete Works of Aeschylus (Illustrated) (Delphi Ancient Classics)

    Page 3
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      [Exit ATOSSA.

      CHORUS

      Zeus, lord and king! to death and nought

      Our countless host by thee is brought.

      Deep in the gloom of death, to-day,

      Lie Susa and Ecbatana:

      How many a maid in sorrow stands

      And rends her tire with tender hands!

      How tears run down, in common pain

      And woeful mourning for the slain!

      O delicate in dole and grief,

      Ye Persian women! past relief

      Is now your sorrow! to the war

      Your loved ones went and come no more!

      Gone from you is your joy and pride —

      Severed the bridegroom from the bride —

      The wedded couch luxurious

      Is widowed now, and all the house

      Pines ever with insatiate sighs,

      And we stand here and bid arise,

      For those who forth in ardour went

      And come not back, the loud lament!

      Land of the East, thou mournest for the host,

      Bereft of all thy sons, alas the day!

      For them whom Xerxes led hath Xerxes lost —

      Xerxes who wrecked the fleet, and flung our hopes away!

      How came it that Darius once controlled,

      And without scathe, the army of the bow,

      Loved by the folk of Susa, wise and bold?

      Now is the land-force lost, the shipmen sunk below!

      Ah for the ships that bore them, woe is me!

      Bore them to death and doom! the crashing prows

      Of fierce Ionian oarsmen swept the sea,

      And death was in their wake, and shipwreck murderous!

      Late, late and hardly — if true tales they tell —

      Did Xerxes flee along the wintry way

      And snows of Thrace — but ah, the first who fell

      Lie by the rocks or float upon Cychrea’s bay!

      Mourn, each and all! waft heavenward your cry,

      Stung to the soul, bereaved, disconsolate!

      Wail out your anguish, till it pierce the sky,

      In shrieks of deep despair, ill-omened, desperate!

      The dead are drifting, yea, are gnawed upon

      By voiceless children of the stainless sea,

      Or battered by the surge! we mourn and groan

      For husbands gone to death, for childless agony!

      Alas the aged men, who mourn to-day

      The ruinous sorrows that the gods ordain!

      O’er the wide Asian land, the Persian sway

      Can force no tribute now, and can no rule sustain.

      Yea, men will crouch no more to fallen power

      And kingship overthrown! the whole land o’er,

      Men speak the thing they will, and from this hour

      The folk whom Xerxes ruled obey his word no more.

      The yoke of force is broken from the neck —

      The isle of Ajax and th’ encircling wave

      Reek with a bloody crop of death and wreck

      Of Persia’s fallen power, that none can lift nor save!

      [Re-enter ATOSSA, in mourning robes.

      ATOSSA

      Friends, whosoe’er is versed in human ills,

      Knoweth right well that when a wave of woe

      Comes on a man, he sees in all things fear;

      While, in flood-tide of fortune, ’tis his mood

      To take that fortune as unchangeable,

      Wafting him ever forward. Mark me now —

      The gods’ thwart purpose doth confront mine eyes,

      And all is terror to me; in mine ears

      There sounds a cry, but not of triumph now —

      So am I scared at heart by woe so great.

      Therefore I wend forth from the house anew,

      Borne in no car of state, nor robed in pride

      As heretofore, but bringing, for the sire

      Who did beget my son, libations meet

      For holy rites that shall appease the dead —

      The sweet white milk, drawn from a spotless cow,

      The oozing drop of golden honey, culled

      By the flower-haunting bee, and therewithal

      Pure draughts of water from a virgin spring;

      And lo! besides, the stainless effluence,

      Born of the wild vine’s bosom, shining store

      Treasured to age, this bright and luscious wine.

      And eke the fragrant fruit upon the bough

      Of the grey olive-tree, which lives its life

      In sprouting leafage, and the twining flowers,

      Bright children of the earth’s fertility.

      But you, O friends! above these offerings poured

      To reconcile the dead, ring out your dirge

      To summon up Darius from the shades,

      Himself a shade; and I will pour these draughts,

      Which earth shall drink, unto the gods of hell.

      CHORUS

      Queen, by the Persian land adored,

      By thee be this libation poured,

      Passing to those who hold command

      Of dead men in the spirit-land!

      And we will sue, in solemn chant,

      That gods who do escort the dead

      In nether realms, our prayer may grant —

      Back to us be Darius led!

      O Earth, and Hermes, and the king

      Of Hades, our Darius bring!

      For if, beyond the prayers we prayed,

      He knoweth aught of help or aid,

      He, he alone, in realms below,

      Can speak the limit of our woe!

      Doth he hear me, the king we adored, who is god

      among gods of the dead?

      Doth he hear me send out in my sorrow the pitiful,

      manifold cry,

      The sobbing lament and appeal? is the voice of my

      suffering sped

      To the realm of the shades? doth he hear me and

      pity my sorrowful sigh?

      O Earth, and ye Lords of the dead! release ye that

      spirit of might,

      Who in Susa the palace was born! let him rise up

      once more to the light!

      There is none like him, none of all

      That e’er were laid in Persian sepulchres!

      Borne forth he was to honoured burial,

      A royal heart! and followed by our tears.

      God of the dead, O give him back to us,

      Darius, ruler glorious!

      He never wasted us with reckless war —

      God, counsellor, and king, beneath a happy star!

      Ancient of days and king, awake and come —

      Rise o’er the mounded tomb!

      Rise, plant thy foot, with saffron sandal shod

      Father to us, and god!

      Rise with thy diadem, O sire benign,

      Upon thy brow!

      List to the strange new sorrows of thy line,

      Sire of a woeful son!

      A mist of fate and hell is round us now,

      And all the city’s flower to death is done!

      Alas, we wept thee once, and weep again!

      O Lord of lords, by recklessness twofold

      The land is wasted of its men,

      And down to death are rolled

      Wreckage of sail and oar,

      Ships that are ships no more,

      And bodies of the slain!

      [The GHOST OF DARIUS rises.

      GHOST OF DARIUS

      Ye aged Persians, truest of the true,

      Coevals of the youth that once was mine,

      What troubleth now our city? harken, how

      It moans and beats the breast and rends the plain!

      And I, beholding how my consort stood

      Beside my tomb, was moved with awe, and took

      The gift of her libation graciously.

      But ye are weeping by my sepulchre,

      And, shrilling forth a sad, evoking cry,

      Summon me mournfully, Arise, arise.

      No light thing
    is it, to come back from death,

      For, in good sooth, the gods of nether gloom

      Are quick to seize but late and loth to free!

      Yet among them I dwell as one in power —

      And lo, I come! now speak, and speed your words,

      Lest I be blamed for tarrying overlong!

      What new disaster broods o’er Persia’s realm?

      CHORUS

      With awe on thee I gaze,

      And, standing face to face,

      I tremble as I did in olden days!

      GHOST OF DARIUS

      Nay, but as I rose to earth again, obedient to your call,

      Prithee, tarry not in parley! be one word enough for all —

      Speak and gaze on me unshrinking, neither let my face appal!

      CHORUS

      I tremble to reveal,

      Yet tremble to conceal

      Things hard for friends to feel!

      GHOST OF DARIUS

      Nay, but if the old-time terror on your spirit keeps its hold,

      Speak thou, O royal lady who didst couch with me of old!

      Stay thy weeping and lamenting and to me reveal the truth —

      Speak! for man is born to sorrow; yea, the proverb sayeth sooth!

      ’Tis the doom of mortal beings, if they live to see old age,

      To suffer bale, by land and sea, through war and tempest’s rage.

      ATOSSA

      O thou whose blissful fate on earth all mortal weal excelled —

      Who, while the sunlight touched thine eyes, the lord of all wert

      held!

      A god to Persian men thou wert, in bliss and pride and fame —

      I hold thee blest too in thy death, or e’er the ruin came!

      Alas, Darius! one brief word must tell thee all the tale —

      The Persian power is in the dust, gone down in blood and bale!

      GHOST OF DARIUS

      Speak — by what chance? did man rebel, or pestilence descend?

      ATOSSA

      Neither! by Athens’ fatal shores our army met its end.

      GHOST OF DARIUS

      Which of my children led our host to Athens? speak and say.

      ATOSSA

      The froward Xerxes, leaving all our realm to disarray.

      GHOST OF DARIUS

      Was it with army or with fleet on folly’s quest he went?

      ATOSSA

      With both alike, a twofold front of double armament.

      GHOST OF DARIUS

      And how then did so large a host on foot pass o’er the sea?

      ATOSSA

      He bridged the ford of Helle’s strait by artful carpentry.

      GHOST OF DARIUS

      How? could his craft avail to span the torrent of that tide?

      ATOSSA

      ’Tis sooth I say — some unknown power did fatal help provide!

      GHOST OF DARIUS

      Alas, that power in malice came, to his bewilderment!

      ATOSSA

      Alas, we see the end of all, the ruin on us sent.

      GHOST OF DARIUS

      Speak, tell me how they fared therein, that thus ye mourn and weep?

      ATOSSA

      Disaster to the army came, through ruin on the deep!

      GHOST OF DARIUS

      Is all undone? hath all the folk gone down before the foe?

      ATOSSA

      Yea, hark to Susa’s mourning cry for warriors laid low!

      GHOST OF DARIUS

      Alas for all our gallant aids, our Persia’s help and pride!

      ATOSSA

      Ay! old with young, the Bactrian force hath perished at our side!

      GHOST OF DARIUS

      Alas, my son! what gallant youths hath he sent down to death!

      ATOSSA

      Alone, or with a scanty guard — for so the rumour saith —

      GHOST OF DARIUS

      He came — but how, and to what end? doth aught of hope remain?

      ATOSSA

      With joy he reached the bridge that spanned the Hellespontine main.

      GHOST OF DARIUS

      How? is he safe, in Persian land? speak soothly, yea or nay!

      ATOSSA

      Clear and more clear the rumour comes, for no man to gainsay.

      GHOST OF DARIUS

      Woe for the oracle fulfilled, the presage of the war

      Launched on my son, by will of Zeus! I deemed our doom afar

      In lap of time; but, if a king push forward to his fate,

      The god himself allures to death that man infatuate!

      So now the very fount of woe streams out on those I loved,

      And mine own son, unwisely bold, the truth hereof hath proved!

      He sought to shackle and control the Hellespontine wave,

      That rushes from the Bosphorus, with fetters of a slave! —

      To curb and bridge, with welded links, the streaming water-way,

      And guide across the passage broad his manifold array!

      Ah, folly void of counsel! he deemed that mortal wight

      Could thwart the will of Heaven itself and curb Poseidon’s might!

      Was it not madness? much I fear lest all my wealth and store

      Pass from my treasure-house, to be the snatcher’s prize once more!

      ATOSSA

      Such is the lesson, ah, too late! to eager Xerxes taught —

      Trusting random counsellors and hare-brained men of nought,

      Who said Darius mighty wealth and fame to us did bring,

      But thou art nought, a blunted spear, a palace-keeping king!

      Unto those sorry counsellors a ready ear he lent,

      And led away to Hellas’ shore his fated armament.

      GHOST OF DARIUS

      Therefore through them hath come calamity

      Most huge and past forgetting; nor of old

      Did ever such extermination fall

      Upon the city Susa. Long ago

      Zeus in his power this privilege bestowed,

      That with a guiding sceptre one sole man

      Should rule this Asian land of flock and herd.

      Over the folk a Mede, Astyages,

      Did grasp the power: then Cyaxares ruled

      In his sire’s place, and held the sway aright,

      Steering his state with watchful wariness.

      Third in succession, Cyrus, blest of Heaven,

      Held rule and ‘stablished peace for all his clan:

      Lydian and Phrygian won he to his sway,

      And wide Ionia to his yoke constrained,

      For the god favoured his discretion sage.

      Fourth in the dynasty was Cyrus’ son,

      And fifth was Mardus, scandal of his land

      And ancient lineage. Him Artaphrenes,

      Hardy of heart, within his palace slew,

      Aided by loyal plotters, set for this.

      And I too gained the lot for which I craved,

      And oftentimes led out a goodly host,

      Yet never brought disaster such as this

      Upon the city. But my son is young

      And reckless in his youth, and heedeth not

      The warnings of my mouth. Mark this, my friends,

      Born with my birth, coeval with mine age —

      Not all we kings who held successive rule

      Have wrought, combined, such ruin as my son!

      CHORUS

      How then, O King Darius? whitherward

      Dost thou direct thy warning? from this plight

      How can we Persians fare towards hope again?

      GHOST OF DARIUS

      By nevermore assailing Grecian lands,

      Even tho’ our Median force be double theirs —

      For the land’s self protects its denizens.

      CHORUS

      How meanest thou? by what defensive power?

      GHOST OF DARIUS

      She wastes by famine a too countless foe.

      CHORUS

      But we will bring a host more skilled than huge.

      GHOST OF DARIUS

      Why, e’en that army, camped in Hellas s
    till,

      Shall never win again to home and weal!

      CHORUS

      How say’st thou? will not all the Asian host

      Pass back from Europe over Helle’s ford?

      GHOST OF DARIUS

      Nay — scarce a tithe of all those myriads,

      If man may trust the oracles of Heaven

      When he beholds the things already wrought,

      Not false with true, but true with no word false

      If what I trow be truth, my son has left

      A chosen rear-guard of our host, in whom

      He trusts, now, with a random confidence!

      They tarry where Asopus laves the ground

      With rills that softly bless Boeotia’s plain —

      There is it fated for them to endure

      The very crown of misery and doom,

      Requital for their god-forgetting pride!

      For why? they raided Hellas, had the heart

      To wrong the images of holy gods,

      And give the shrines and temples to the flame!

      Defaced and dashed from sight the altars fell,

      And each god’s image, from its pedestal

      Thrust and flung down, in dim confusion lies!

      Therefore, for outrage vile, a doom as dark

      They suffer, and yet more shall undergo —

      They touch no bottom in the swamp of doom,

      But round them rises, bubbling up, the ooze!

      So deep shall lie the gory clotted mass

      Of corpses by the Dorian spear transfixed

      Upon Plataea’s field! yea, piles of slain

      To the third generation shall attest

      By silent eloquence to those that see —

      Let not a mortal vaunt him overmuch.

      For pride grows rankly, and to ripeness brings

      The curse of fate, and reaps, for harvest, tears!

      Therefore when ye behold, for deeds like these,

      Such stern requital paid, remember then

      Athens and Hellas. Let no mortal wight,

      Holding too lightly of his present weal

      And passionate for more, cast down and spill

      The mighty cup of his prosperity!

      Doubt not that over-proud and haughty souls

      Zeus lours in wrath, exacting the account.

      Therefore, with wary warning, school my son,

      Though he be lessoned by the gods already,

      To curb the vaunting that affronts high Heaven!

      And thou, O venerable Mother-queen,

      Beloved of Xerxes, to the palace pass

      And take therefrom such raiment as befits

      Thy son, and go to meet him: for his garb

      In this extremity of grief hangs rent

      Around his body, woefully unstitched,

      Mere tattered fragments of once royal robes!

      Go thou to him, speak soft and soothing words —

      Thee, and none other, will he bear to hear,

      As well I know. But I must pass away

      From earth above, unto the nether gloom;

     


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