ATOSSA.
By dreams I have been haunted every night,
Since with his armament my son went forth
To smite the land of the Ionians.
Yet never dream has come so startling clear
As last night's vision; let me tell it thee:—
Methought two women, beauteously attired,
The robes of one in Persian fashion wrought.
Those of her mate in Dorian, met my view.
In stature they surpassed all womankind;
Peerless their forms; sisters they were in blood.
The heritage and dwelling-place of one
Was Hellas, of the other Asia.
Between these two methought a strife arose,
Which when my son perceived, he checked their wrath
And calmed them, and beneath his chariot's yoke
He led them both, and o'er their necks the rein
He stretched. Then of her trappings one seemed proud
And to the bit her mouth obedient lent.
But her companion, like a restive steed,
The harness broke, and, heeding not the bit,
O'erthrew the car and snapped the yoke in twain.
My son falls, and his sire Darius comes
To aid and comfort him, whom when he sees,
Xerxes his garments rends in sign of woe.
Such was my dream. When morning came I rose,
And first the night's pollution purged away
With purifying waters, then I sought
The altar, with my sacrificial train
To lay the gift, which turns the wrath divine,
Of honeyed meal before the powers who save.
Behold an eagle flying in affright
To Phoebus' shrine; fear struck me mute, my friends.
Then lo! a falcon on the eagle swoops,
Assails him with his wings and tears his head
With angry talons, while the mightier bird
Cowers unresisting. Awful 'twas to see,
Awful it is for you to hear. My son,
If well he fares, will boundless glory win,
If ill—yet he no reckoning owes the state;
Let him but live and he is master here.
* * * * *
SALAMIS.
The battle narrated by a Persian coming from the scene.
LINES 251-473.
MESSENGER.
Alas! ye cities all of Asia,
Alas! thou Persia, treasure-house of wealth,
How at one stroke has your prosperity
Been overthrown and Persia's glory lost!
Ill-luck has he that evil tidings brings,
Yet needs must I my tale of woe unfold.
Persians, our host has perished utterly.
* * * * * * *