Zopyrus expressed no little surprise, for he had always thought of Aeschylus as a native of Athens.
“I had planned to move to Athens,” continued the poet, “so my elder son could attend the Academy, but God saw fit to snatch him forever from me in the late war with the oriental barbarians.”
Aeschylus stood a moment, his head bent forward, his attitude that of a man in complete subjection to a master. Zopyrus imagined that his lips moved but there was no sound forthcoming. Then there came to the Persian the memory of the maiden’s prayer, followed by the song from a myriad unseen throats, the mighty pæan that had saved Greece. Zopyrus as he watched the poet in silence knew that he too prayed. When the latter raised his head Zopyrus said tensely: “Your prayer is the second of its kind that I have seen. It ascends straight to God—“—then after a moment’s pause, “Tell me how do you explain the miracle of Salamis?”
Aeschylus gazed long and earnestly into the eyes of the young man before he answered.
“It was a word from the invisible, unapproachable Spirit of the universe.”
Zopyrus was greatly moved by the poet’s words.
“You believe that in great crises Zeus will help those whom He believes to be in the right?”
“Yes, but I believe that this God must have been approached by a devout suppliant, and that this was his answer to an earnest prayer.”
“Aeschylus,” said the young man, and he stood and faced his companion so that the moon shone full into his face revealing his emotion, “I was myself a witness, the only one, to the prayer that saved Greece.”
“You a witness to such a prayer!” exclaimed the incredulous poet.