THE PERSIANSA HISTORICAL CANTATA“Why should calamity be full of words?Windy attorneys to their client woes,Airy succeeders of intestate joys,Poor breathing orators of miseries!Let them have scope; though what they do in partHelp nothing else, yet they do ease the heart.”Shakespere.Ὦ θείη Σαλαμὶς. ἀπολεῖς δὲ σὺ τέκνα γυναικῶν.Delphic Oracle.PERSONSChorus of Persian Elders.Atossa,Mother of Xerxes.Messenger.Shade of Darius,Father of Xerxes.Xerxes,King of Persia.Scene—Before the Palace at Susa. Tomb of Darius in the background.INTRODUCTORY REMARKSThepiece, on the perusal of which the reader is now about to enter, stands unique among the extant remains of the ancient drama, as drawing its materials from the historical, not the mythological, age of the Greek people. We are not, from this fact, to conclude that the Greeks, or the ancients generally, drew a more strict boundary line between the provinces of history and poetry, than the moderns. Such an inference were the very reverse of the fact, as the whole style of ancient history on the one hand, and the examples of Ennius and Lucan in poetry, sufficiently show. Not even within the special domain of the Greek stage is our one extant example the only historical drama of which the records of Hellenic literature have preserved the memory; on the contrary, one of the old arguments of the present play expressly testifies that Phrynichus, a contemporary of Æschylus, had written a play on the same subject; and we know, from other sources, that the same dramatist had exhibited on the stage, with the most powerful effect, the capture of the city of Miletus, which took place only a few years before the battle of Marathon.f1There was a plain reason, however, why, with all this, historical subjects should, in the general case, have been excluded from the range of the Greek dramatic poetry; and that reason was, the religious character which, as we have previously shown, belonged so essentially to the tragic exhibitions of the Hellenes. That religious character necessarily directed the eye of the tragic poet to those ages in the history of his country, when the gods held more familiar and open converse with men, and to those exploits which were performed by Jove-descended heroes in olden time, under the express sanction, and with the special inspiration, of Heaven. Had a characteristically Christian drama arisen, at an early period, out of the festal celebrations of the Church, the sacred poets of such a drama would, in the same way, have confined themselves to strictly scriptural themes, or to themes belonging to the earlier and more venerable traditions of the Church.With regard to the subject of the present drama, there can be no doubt that, like the fall of Napoleon at Moscow, Leipzig, and Waterloo, in these latter days, so in ancient history there is no event more suited for the purposes of poetry than the expedition of Xerxes into Greece. There is “a beginning, a middle, and an end,” in this story, which might satisfy the critical demands of the sternest Aristotle; a moral also, than which no sermon ever preached from Greek stage or Christian pulpit is better calculated to tame the foolish pride, and to purify the turbid passions of humanity. In ancient and modern times, accordingly, from Chœrilus to Glover, the whole, or part of this subject has been treated, as its importance seemed to demand, epically;f2but of all the poetical glorifications of this high theme, that of Æschylus has alone succeeded in asserting for itself a permanent niche in the library of that select poetry which belongs to all times and all places.Of the battle of Salamis and the expedition of Xerxes, as an historical event, it must be unnecessary for me to say a single word here, entitled, as I am, to presume that no reader of the plays of Æschylus can be ignorant of the main facts, and the tremendous moral significance of that event. I shall only mention, for the sake of those whose memory is not well exercised in chronology, that it took place in the autumn of the year 480 before Christ, ten years after the battle of Marathon, thirty years after the expulsion of the Tarquins from Rome, and eighty years after the foundation of the great Persian empire by Cyrus the great. Those who wish to read the descriptions of the poet with complete interest and satisfaction should peruse the 38th, 39th, 40th, and 41st chapters (Vol. V.), of Mr.Grote’s great work; and, if possible, also, the 7th and 8th books of Herodotus.f3On the poetical merit of the Persians, as a work of art, a great authority, Schlegel, has pronounced that it is “undoubtedly the most imperfect of all the extant tragedies of this poet;” but, unless the historical theme be the stumbling-block, I really cannot see on what ground this judgment proceeds. As for the descriptive parts, the battle of Salamis, and the retreat of the routed monarch, are pictured with a vividness and a power to which nothing in this massive and manly author is superior; the interest to the reader being increased tenfold by the fact, that he is here dealing with a real event of the most important character, and recited by one of the best qualifiedof eye-witnesses. The moral of the piece, as already stated, is, in every respect, what in a great drama or epos could be desired; and, with respect to the lyrics, the Anapæstic march, and the choral chaunt in Ionic measure, with which it opens, has about it a breadth, a magnificence, and a solemnity surpassed only in the choral hymns of the Agamemnon. Not less effective, to an ancient audience, I am sure, must have been the grand antiphonal chaunt with which (as in The Seven against Thebes) the variously repeated wail of this tragedy is brought to a climax; and if the Bishop of London, and some other scholars, have thought this sad exhibition of national lamentation ridiculous, we ought to believe that these critics have forgot the difference between a modern reader and an ancient spectator, rather than that so great a master as Æschylus did not know how to distinguish between a tragedy and a farce.In common with other historical poems, the Persians of Æschylus is not altogether free from the fault of bringing our imaginative faculty into collision with our understanding, by a partial suppression or exaggeration of historical truth. In the way of suppression, the most noticeable thing is, that the slave of Themistocles, who is described as having, by a false report to Xerxes, brought on the battle of Salamis, appears, according to the poet, to have cheated the Persians only; whereas, according to the real story, he cheated his countrymen also, and forced them to fight in that place against the will of the non-Athenian members of the confederation. In the way of exaggeration, again,Grote, in an able note,f4has shown what appear to me valid reasons for disbelieving the fact of the freezing of the Strymon, and its sudden thaw, described so piteously by our poet; while the very nature of the case plainly shows that the whole circumstances of the retreat, coming to us through Greek reporters, were very liable to exaggeration. This, however, in a poetical description, is a small matter. What appears to me much worse, and, indeed, the weakest point in the structure of the whole drama, is that the contrast between the character and conduct of Darius and that of his son is drawn in colours much too strong; the fact being that the son, in following the advice of Mardonius to attack Athens, was only carrying into execution the design of the father, and making use of his preparations.f5All that I have to say in defence of this misrepresentation is, that the poet wrote with a glowing patriotic heat what we now contemplate with a cold historical criticism. The greatest works of the greatest masters can, ashuman nature is constituted, seldom be altogether free from inconsistencies of this kind.I have only further to add, that I have carefully read whatWelckerandGruppef6have written on the supposed ideal connection between the four pieces of the tetralogy, among which the Persians stands second, in the extant Greek argument;f7but that, while I admire exceedingly the learning and ingenuity of these writers, I doubt much the utility of attempting to restore the palaces of ancient art out of those few loose bricks which Time has spared us from the once compact mass. Poetry may be benefited by such speculations; Philology, I rather fear, has been injured.THE PERSIANSChorus,entering the Orchestra in procession. March time.Chorus.We are the Persian watchmen old,The guardians true of the palace of gold,Left to defend the Asian land,When the army marched to Hellas’ strand;Elders chosen by Xerxes the king,The son of Darius, to hold the reins,Till he the conquering host shall bringBack to Susa’s sunny plains.But the spirit within me is troubled and tossed,When I think of the King and the Persian host;And my soul, dark-stirred with the prophet’s mood,Bodes nothing good.For the strength of the Asian land went forth,And my heart cries out for the young king’s worthThat marshalled them on to the war:f8Nor herald, nor horseman, nor wandering fame,Since then to the towers of the Persian came.From Susa and from Ecbatana far,And from the Cissian fortress old,f9Strong in the ordered ranks of warForth they went, the warriors bold;Horseman and footman and seaman went,A vast and various armament.Amistres, Artaphrenes, led the van,Megabátes, Astaspes, obeyed the ban;Persian leaders, kings from afarFollowed the great King’s call to the war.Forth they went with arrow and bow,n1And in clattering turms with chivalrous show;To the eye of the dastard a terrible sight,And with constancy mailed for the fight.Artembáres in steeds delighting,Imaeus the foe with the sure arrow smiting,Pharandáces, Masistres, Sosthánes in warWho lashes the steed, and drives the car.The mighty and many-nurturing NileSent forth many a swarthy file;Susiscánes and Egypt’s sonPegastágon lead them on.Arsámes the mighty, whose word commandsThe strength of the sacred Memphian bands,And Ariomardus brave, whose swayThe sons of Ogygianf10Thebes obey.And the countless host with sturdy oarThat plough the lagoons of the slimy shore,f11And the Lydians march in luxurious pride,And the tribes of the continent far and wideWhom Arcteus and valiant Metragathes lead,Kings that serve the great King’s need;And the men who fight from the sharp-scythed car,Whom golden Sardesn2sends to the war;Some with two yoke, some with three,A terrible sight to see.And the sons of sacred Tmolus appearf12On free-necked Hellas to lay the yoke,Mardon and Tharybis, stiff to the spearAs the anvil is stiff to the hammer’s stroke.And the men of Mysia skilful to throwThe well-poised dart,n3and they who rideOn wide Ocean’s swelling tide,A mingled people with motley showFrom golden Babylon, men who knowTo point the arrow and bend the bow.The Asian tribes that wear the swordn4From far and nearThe summons hear,And follow the hest of their mighty Lord.All the flower of the Persian youth hath gone,And the land that nursed them is left aloneTo pine with love’s delay;And wives and mothers from day to day,Fearing what birthThe time shall bring forth,Fret the long-drawn hours away.CHORAL HYMN.STROPHE I.Proudly the kingly host,City-destroying, crossedHence to the neighbouringContrary coast;Paving the sea with planks,Marched he his serried ranks:Hellè’s swift-rushing stream,f13Binding with cord and chain,Forging a yokeFor the neck of the main.ANTISTROPHE I.King of a countless host,Asia’s warlike boast,Shepherd of many sheep,n5Conquering crossed.Trusting to men of might,Footman and harnessed knight;Son of a golden race,Strong both by land and sea,Equal to gods,Though a mortal was he.STROPHE II.His eyes like the dragon’s direFlashing with dark blue fire,f14See him appear!Through the long lines of warDriving the Syrian car,f15Ares in arrows strongLeading against the strongMen of the spear!ANTISTROPHE II.When wave upon wave of menBreaks through each Grecian glen,Whelming the land,War like wild Ocean’s tide,What arm shall turn aside?Persia’s stout-hearted race,Hand to hand, face to face,Who shall withstand?MESODE.But, when the gods deceive,n6Wiles which immortals weaveWho shall beware?Who, when their nets surround,Breaks with a nimble boundOut of the snare?First they approach with smiles,Wreathing their hidden wiles:Then with surprise,Seize they their prey; and lo!Writhing in toils of woeTangled he lies.STROPHE III.Fate hath decreed it so,Peace, peace, is not for thee!Persia, hear and know,War is the lot for thee!Spake the supernal powers,Charging of steeds shall be,Taking of towns and towers,Persia, to thee!ANTISTROPHE III.Where the sea, hoar with wrath,Roars to the roaring blast,Daring a doubtful path,Persian hosts have passed;Where wave on wave cresting onBristles with angry breath,Cable and plank alonePart them from death!STROPHE IV.Therefore is my soul within meMurky-mantled, pricked with fear:Alas! the Persian army! NeverMay such cry invade my ear!Susa, emptied of her children,Desolate and drear!ANTISTROPHE IV.Never may the Cissian fortressWith such echo split the air;Spare mine ears the shrieks of women,And mine eyes the sad sight spare,When fair hands the costly linenFrom gentle bosoms tear!STROPHE V.For all our horse with frequent tramp,And our footmen from the camp,Even as bees on busy wing,Swarmed out with the king:And they paved their briny way,Where beats the many-mingling sprayThe bridge that joins the Thracian strandTo Asian land.f16ANTISTROPHE V.Wives bedew with many a tearThe couches where the partner dearHath been, and is not; Persian wivesFret with desire their lives.Far, far, he roams from land to land,Her restless lord with lance in hand;She in unmated grief to moanIs left alone.But come, ye Persian elders all,Let us seat us beside this ancient hall;Wise counsel to-day let us honestly frame,Touching the fate of the kingly one,Race of our race, and name of our name,Darius’ godlike son:For much it concerns us to knowWhether the winged shaft shot from the bow,Or the strength of the pointed spear hath won.But lo! where she comes, a moving light,Like the eyes of the god so bright,The mother of Xerxes, my queen.Let us fall down before her with humble prostration,n7And greet her to-day with a fair salutation,The mother of Xerxes, my queen.[ToAtossa,entering.] Mistress of the low-zoned women, queen of Persia’s daughters, hail!Aged mother of King Xerxes, wife of great Darius, hail!Spouse of him who was a god, and of a present god the mother,If the ancient bliss that crowned it hath not left the Persian host.EnterAtossa,drawn with royal pomp in a chariot.Atossa.Even this hath moved me, leaving these proud golden-garnished halls,And the common sleeping chamber of Darius and myself,Here to come. Sharp fear within me pricks my heart; I will declareAll the thoughts that deep perplex me to my friends; the secret fearLest our pride of ramping riches kick our sober weal in the dust,Scattering wide what wealth Darius gathered, not without a god.Twofold apprehension moves me, when I ponder this old truth;Without men much riches profit little; without wealth the state,Though in numbers much abounding, may not look on joyous light.Riches are a thing not evil; but I tremble for the eye,And the eye I call the presence of the master in the house.f17Ye have heard my sorrows; make me sharer of your counsel now,In what matter I shall tell you, ancient, trusty Persian men;For with you my whole of wisdom, all my healthy counsels dwell.Chorus.Mistress of this land, believe it, never shalt thou ask a kindness,Be it word from us or action, twice, while power shall aid the will;We are willing to advise thee in this matter, what we may.Atossa.Since when my son departed with the army,To bring destruction on Ionia,f18scarcelyOne night hath been that did not bring me dreams;But yesternight, with figurement most clear,I dreamt; hear thou the theme. Methought I sawTwo women richly dight, in Persian robesThe one, the other in a Dorian dress,Both tall above the vulgar stature, bothOf beauty blameless, and descended bothFrom the same race. The one on Hellas dwelt,The other on fair Asia’s continent.Between these twain some strife there seemed to rise;Which when my son beheld, forthwith he seized them,And joined them to his car, and made their necksSubmissive to the yoke. The one uptoweredIn pride of harness, as rejoiced to followThe kingly rein. The other kicked and plunged,And tossed the gear away, and broke the traces,The yoke in sunder snapt, and from the carRan reinless. On the ground my son was thrown,And to his aid Darius pitying came,Whom when he saw, my Xerxes rent his robes.Such was my vision of the night; the mornBrought a new portent with it. When I rose,And dipped my hands in the fair-flowing fount,f8And to the altar of the averting gods,To whom such right pertains, with sacred cakeIn sacrificial ministry advanced,I saw an eagle flying to the altarn9Of Phœbus; there all mute with fear I stood;And after it in swiftest flight I sawA hawk that darted on the eagle’s head,And tore it with his claws, the royal birdYielding his glory meekly to be plucked.These things I saw in fear, as ye in fearMust hear them. Ye know well, my son commandsSupreme in Persia. Should success attend him,’Tis well; but should mischance o’ertake him, heWill rule in Susa as he ruled before;No power is here to whom he owes account.Chorus.We advise thee, mother, neither with the feeble words of fear,Nor with boastful courage. Turn thee to the gods in supplication:Theirs it is to ward fulfilment of all evil-omened sights,Bringing good to full fruition for thyself and for thy children,For the city and all that love thee. Then a pure libation pourTo the Earth and to the Manes; with especial honor prayThe dread Shade of thy Darius whom thou sawest in the night,To send blessings on thy Xerxes in the gladness of the day,Keeping back unblissful sorrows in the sightless gloom of death.Thus my soul its own divinerf19with a friendly kind concernCounsels. Doubtless time will perfect happy fates for thee and thine.Atossa.Truly, with a friendly reading thou hast read my midnight dreams,Words of strengthening solace speaking to my son and to my house.May the gods all blessing perfect. I to them, as thou hast said,And the Shades, the well-beloved, will perform befitting rites,In the palace; meanwhile tell me this, for I would gladly knowWhere, O friends, is famous Athens on the broad face of the Earth?n10Chorus.Far in the west: beside the setting of the lord of light the sun.Atossa.This same Athens, my son Xerxes longed with much desire to take.Chorus.Wisely: for all Greece submissive, when this city falls, will fall.Atossa.Are they many? do they number men enough to meet my son?Chorus.What they number was sufficient once to work the Medes much harm.Atossa.Other strength than numbers have they? wealth enough within themselves?Chorus.They can boast a fount of silver, native treasure to the land.f20Atossa.Are they bowmen good? sure-feathered do their pointed arrows fly?Chorus.Not so. Stable spears they carry, massy armature of shields.Atossa.Who is shepherd of this people? lord of the Athenian host?Chorus.Slaves are they to no man living, subject to no earthly name.n11Atossa.How can such repel the onset of a strong united host?Chorus.HowDarius knew in Hellas, when he lost vast armies there.Atossa.Things of deep concern thou speakest to all mothers in this land.Chorus.Thou shalt know anon exactly more than I can guess, for lo!Here comes one—a hasty runner—he should be a Persian man.News, I wis, this herald bringeth of deep import, good or bad.EnterMessenger.Messenger.O towns and cities of wide Asia,O Persian land, wide harbour of much wealth,How hath one stroke laid all thy grandeur low,One frost nipt all thy bloom! Woe’s me that IShould be first bearer of bad news! but strongNecessity commands to speak the truth.Persians, the whole barbaric host hath perished.STROPHE I.Chorus.O misery! misery, dark and deep!Dole and sorrow and woe!Weep, ye Persians! wail and weep,For wounds that freshly flow!Messenger.All, all is ruined: not a remnant left.Myself, against all hope, see Persia’s sun.ANTISTROPHE I.Chorus.O long, too long, through creeping yearsHath the life of the old man lasted,To see—and nurse his griefs with tears—The hopes of Persia blasted!Messenger.I speak no hearsay: what these eyes beheldOf blackest evil, Persians, I declare.STROPHE II.Chorus.Ah me! all in vain against Hellas divineWere the twanging bow and whizzing reed,All vainly mustered the thickly clusteredArmies of the Mede!Messenger.The shores of Salamis, and all aroundWith the thick bodies of our dead are peopled.ANTISTROPHE II.Chorus.Alas! the wreck of the countless host!The sundered planks, and the drifted dead,n12Rocked to and fro, with the ebb and the flowOn a wavy-wandering bed!Messenger.Vain were our shafts; our mighty multitudeVanished before their brazen-beaked attack.STROPHE III.Chorus.Sing ye, sing ye a sorrowful song,Lift ye, lift ye a piercing cry!Our harnessed throng and armies strongLost and ruined utterly!Messenger.O hated name to hear, sad Salamis!O Athens, I remember thee with groans.ANTISTROPHE III.Chorus.O Athens, Athens, thou hast reft usOf our all we did possess!Sonless mothers thou hast left us,Weeping wives and husbandless!Atossa.Thou see’st I have kept silence: this sad strokeHath struck me dumb, as powerless to give voiceTo my own sorrows, as to ask another’s.Yet when the gods send trouble, mortal menMust learn to bear it. Therefore be thou calm;Unfold the perfect volume of our woes,And, though the memory grieve thee, let us hearThy tale to the end; what loss demands our tears,Which of the baton-bearing chiefsf21hath leftAn army to march home without a head.Messenger.Xerxes yet lives, and looks on the light.Atossa.Much lightIn this to me, and to my house thou speakest,A shining day from out a pitchy night.Messenger.Artembares, captain of ten thousand horse,Upon the rough Silenian shoresf22lies dead,And Dadaces, the chiliarch, spear-struck fellPrecipitate from his ship—an easy leap;And noble Tenagon, a pure Bactrian born,Around the sea-lashed isle of Ajax floats.Lilaeus, Arsames, Argestes, theseThe waves have made their battering ram, to beatThe hard rocks of the turtle-nurturing isle.Pharnuchus, Pheresseues, and Adeues,And Arcteus from their native Nile-spring farFell from one ship into one grave. Matallus,The Chrysian myriontarch, who led to HellasFull thrice ten thousand sable cavalry,His thick and bushy beard’s long tawny prideHath dyed in purple gore. The Magian ArabusThe Bactrian Artames on the self-same shoreHave found no cushioned lodgment.f23There Amestris,n13And there Amphistreus, wielder of the spear,And there Metragathes lies, for whom the SardiansWeep well-earned tears; and Sersames, the Mysian.With them, of five times fifty ships commander,Lyrnaean Tharybis, a goodly man,Lies hopeless stretched on the unfriendly strand.Syennesis, the brave Cilician chiefWho singly wrought more trouble to the foeThan thousands, died with a brave man’s report.These names I tell thee of the chiefs that fell,A few selecting out of many losses.Atossa.Alas! alas! more than enough I hear;Shame to the Persians and shrill wails. But say,Retracing thy discourse, what was the numberOf the Greek ships that dared with Persia’s fleetTo engage, and grapple beak to beak.Messenger.If numberOf ships might gain the fight, believe me, queen,The victory had been ours. The Greeks could tellBut ten times thirty ships, with other ten,Of most select equipment. Xerxes numberedA thousand ships, two hundred sail and sevenOf rapid wing beside. Of this be assured,What might of man could do was done to save us;Some god hath ruined us, not weighing justlyAn equal measure. Pallas saves her city.n14Atossa.The city? is it safe? does Athens stand?Messenger.It stands without the fence of walls. Men wall it.Atossa.But say, who first commenced the fight—the GreeksOr, in his numbers strong, my kingly son.Messenger.Some evil god, or an avenging spirit,f24Began the fray. From the Athenian fleetThere came a Greek,n15and thus thy son bespoke.“Soon as the gloom of night shall fall, the GreeksNo more will wait, but, rushing to their oars,Each man will seek his safety where he may,By secret flight.” This Xerxes heard, but knew notThe guile of Greece, nor yet the jealous gods,And to his captains straightway gave commandThat, when the sun withdrew his burning beams,And darkness filled the temple of the sky,n16In triple lines their ships they should dispose,Each wave-plashed outlet guarding, fencing roundThe isle of Ajax surely. Should the GreeksDeceive this guard, or with their ships escapeIn secret flight, each captain with his headShould pay for his remissness. These commandsWith lofty heart, thy son gave forth, nor thoughtWhat harm the gods were weaving. They obeyed.Each man prepared his supper, and the sailorsBound the lithe oar to its familiar block.Then, when the sun his shining glory paled,And night swooped down, each master of the oar,Each marshaller of arms, embarked; and thenLine called on line to take its ordered place.All night they cruised, and, with a moving belt,Prisoned the frith, till day ’gan peep, and stillNo stealthy Greek the expected flight essayed.But when at length the snowy-steeded DayBurst o’er the main, all beautiful to see,First from the Greeks a tuneful shout uprose,Well-omened, and, with replication loud,Leapt the blithe echo from the rocky shore.Fear seized the Persian host, no longer trickedBy vain opinion; not like wavering flightBillowed the solemn pæan of the Greeks,But like the shout of men to battle urging,With lusty cheer. Then the fierce trumpet’s voiceBlazedf25o’er the main; and on the salt sea floodForthwith the oars, with measured plash, descended,And all their lines, with dexterous speed displayed,Stood with opposing front. The right wing first,Then the whole fleet bore down, and straight uproseA mighty shout. “Sons of the Greeks, advance!Your country free, your children free, your wives!The altars of your native gods deliver,And your ancestral tombs—all’s now at stake!”A like salute from our whole line back-rolledIn Persian speech. Nor more delay, but straightTrireme on trireme, brazen beak on beakDashed furious. A Greek ship led on the attack,f26And from the prow of a Phœnician struckThe figure-head; and now the grapple closedOf each ship with his adverse desperate.At first the main line of the Persian fleetStood the harsh shock; but soon their multitudeBecame their ruin; in the narrow frithThey might not use their strength, and, jammed together,Their ships with brazen beaks did bite each other,And shattered their own oars. Meanwhile the GreeksStroke after stroke dealt dexterous all around,Till our ships showed their keels, and the blue seaWas seen no more, with multitude of shipsAnd corpses covered. All the shores were strewn,And the rough rocks, with dead; till, in the end,Each ship in the barbaric host, that yetHad oars, in most disordered flight rowed off.As men that fish for tunnies, so the Greeks,With broken booms, and fragments of the wreck,Struck our snared men, and hacked them, that the sea,With wail and moaning, was possessed around,Till black-eyed Night shot darkness o’er the fray.f27These ills thou hearest: to rehearse the whole,Ten days were few; but this, my queen, believe,No day yet shone on Earth whose brightness lookedOn such a tale of death.Atossa.A sea of woesOn Persia bursts, and all the Persian name!Messenger.Thou hast not heard the half: another woeRemains, that twice outweighs what I have told.Atossa.What worse than this? Say what mischance so strongTo hurt us more, being already ruined?Messenger.The bloom of all the Persian youth, in spiritThe bravest, and in birth the noblest, princesIn whom thy son placed his especial trust,All by a most inglorious doom have perished.Atossa.O wretched me, that I should live to hear it!But by what death did Persia’s princes die?Messenger.There is an islet, fronting Salamis,To ships unfriendly, of dance-loving Pann17The chosen haunt, and near the Attic coast.Here Xerxes placed his chiefest men, that whenThe routed Greeks should seek this strand, our troopsMight both aid friends, where friends their aid required,And kill the scattered Greeks, an easy prey;Ill-auguring what should hap! for when the godsGave to the Greeks the glory of the day,f28Straightway well-cased in mail from their triremesThey leapt, rushed on the isle, and hedged it round,That neither right nor left our men might turn,But fell in heaps, some struck by rattling stones,Some pierced by arrows from the twanging bow.Then, in one onslaught fiercely massed, the GreeksOur fenceless chiefs in slashing butcheryMowed down, till not one breath remained to groan.But Xerxes groaned: for from a height that roseFrom the sea-shore conspicuous,f29with clear viewHe mustered the black fortune of the fight.His stole he rent, and lifting a shrill wailGave the poor remnant of his host commandTo flee; and fled with them. Lament with me,This second sorrow heaped upon the first.Atossa.O dismal god! how has thy hate deceivedThe mind of the Mede! A bitter vengeance trulyHath famous Athens wreaked on my poor son,To all the dead that fell at MarathonAdding this slaughter!—O my son! my son!Thyself hast paid the penalty that thouWent to inflict on others!—But let me hearWhere hast thou left the few ships that escaped?Messenger.The remnant of the fleet with full sail spedSwift in disordered flight from Salamis.The wreck of the army through Bœotia trailedIts sickly line: there some of thirst fell deadEven in the water’s view; some with fatiguePanting toiled on through Phocian land, and Doris,And passed the Melian gulf, where through the plainSpercheius rolls his fructifying flood.Then faint and famished the Achaean landReceived us, and fair Thessaly’s city; thereThe most of hunger died and thirst; for withThis double plague we struggled. Next MagnesiaAnd Macedonian ground we traversed; thenThe stream of Axius, reedy Bolbe’s mere,The Edonian fields, and the Pangaean hills.But here some godf30stirred winter premature,And in the night froze Strymon’s holy stream.Then men who never worshipped gods beforeCalled on the heavens and on the Earth to save them,With many prayers, in vain. A few escaped,What few had crossed the ice-compacted floodEre the strong god of light shot forth his rays.For soon the lustrous orb of day shone outWith blazing beams, unbound the stream, and opedInevitable fate beneath them: thenMan upon man in crowded ruin fell,And he was happiest who the soonest died.We who survived, a miserable wreck,Struggled through Thrace slowly with much hard toil,n18And stand again on Persian ground, and seeOur native hearths. Much cause the city hasTo weep the loss of her selectest youth.These words are true: much I omit to tellOf all the woes a god hath smote withalOur Persian land.Chorus.O sorely-vexing god,How hast thou trampled ’neath no gentle footThe Persian race!Atossa.Woe’s me! the army’s lost.O dreamy shapes night wandering, too clearlyYour prophecy spoke truth! But you, good Seniors,Sorry expounders though ye be, in one thingI will obey. I will go pray the gods,As ye advised; then gifts I will presentTo Earth and to the Manes. I will offer,The sacred cake to appease them. For the past,’Tis past beyond all change; but hope may beTo make the gods propitious for the future.Meanwhile your counsel in this need I crave;A faithful man is mighty in mischance.My son, if he shall come ere I return,Cheer him with friendly words, and see him safe,Lest to this ill some worser woe be added. [Exit.Chorus.O Jove, king Jove destroyed hast thouOur high-vaunting countless hosts!Our high-vaunting countless hostsWhere be they now?Susa’s glory, Ecbatana’s pride,In murky sorrow thou didst hide,And with delicate hands the virgins fairTheir white veils tear,And salt streams flow from bright fountains of woe,And rain on the bosoms of snow.They whose love was fresh and young,Where are now their husbands strong?The soft delights of the nuptial bedWith purple spread,Where, where be they?They have lost the joy of their jocund years,And they weep with insatiate tears:And I will reply with my heart’s strong cry,And lift the doleful lay.CHORAL HYMN.STROPHE I.Asia from each furthest cornerWeeps her woes, a sonless mourner;Xerxes a wild chase pursuing,Xerxes led thee to thy ruin;Xerxes, luckless fancies wooing,Trimmed vain fleets for thy undoing.Not like him the old DariusShattered thus from Hellas came;Rightly he is honoured by us,Susa’s bowman without blame.
A HISTORICAL CANTATA“Why should calamity be full of words?Windy attorneys to their client woes,Airy succeeders of intestate joys,Poor breathing orators of miseries!Let them have scope; though what they do in partHelp nothing else, yet they do ease the heart.”Shakespere.Ὦ θείη Σαλαμὶς. ἀπολεῖς δὲ σὺ τέκνα γυναικῶν.Delphic Oracle.
A HISTORICAL CANTATA
A HISTORICAL CANTATA
“Why should calamity be full of words?Windy attorneys to their client woes,Airy succeeders of intestate joys,Poor breathing orators of miseries!Let them have scope; though what they do in partHelp nothing else, yet they do ease the heart.”Shakespere.
“Why should calamity be full of words?
Windy attorneys to their client woes,
Airy succeeders of intestate joys,
Poor breathing orators of miseries!
Let them have scope; though what they do in part
Help nothing else, yet they do ease the heart.”
Shakespere.
Ὦ θείη Σαλαμὶς. ἀπολεῖς δὲ σὺ τέκνα γυναικῶν.Delphic Oracle.
Ὦ θείη Σαλαμὶς. ἀπολεῖς δὲ σὺ τέκνα γυναικῶν.
Delphic Oracle.
Chorus of Persian Elders.Atossa,Mother of Xerxes.Messenger.Shade of Darius,Father of Xerxes.Xerxes,King of Persia.Scene—Before the Palace at Susa. Tomb of Darius in the background.
Chorus of Persian Elders.Atossa,Mother of Xerxes.Messenger.Shade of Darius,Father of Xerxes.Xerxes,King of Persia.
Chorus of Persian Elders.
Atossa,Mother of Xerxes.
Messenger.
Shade of Darius,Father of Xerxes.
Xerxes,King of Persia.
Thepiece, on the perusal of which the reader is now about to enter, stands unique among the extant remains of the ancient drama, as drawing its materials from the historical, not the mythological, age of the Greek people. We are not, from this fact, to conclude that the Greeks, or the ancients generally, drew a more strict boundary line between the provinces of history and poetry, than the moderns. Such an inference were the very reverse of the fact, as the whole style of ancient history on the one hand, and the examples of Ennius and Lucan in poetry, sufficiently show. Not even within the special domain of the Greek stage is our one extant example the only historical drama of which the records of Hellenic literature have preserved the memory; on the contrary, one of the old arguments of the present play expressly testifies that Phrynichus, a contemporary of Æschylus, had written a play on the same subject; and we know, from other sources, that the same dramatist had exhibited on the stage, with the most powerful effect, the capture of the city of Miletus, which took place only a few years before the battle of Marathon.f1There was a plain reason, however, why, with all this, historical subjects should, in the general case, have been excluded from the range of the Greek dramatic poetry; and that reason was, the religious character which, as we have previously shown, belonged so essentially to the tragic exhibitions of the Hellenes. That religious character necessarily directed the eye of the tragic poet to those ages in the history of his country, when the gods held more familiar and open converse with men, and to those exploits which were performed by Jove-descended heroes in olden time, under the express sanction, and with the special inspiration, of Heaven. Had a characteristically Christian drama arisen, at an early period, out of the festal celebrations of the Church, the sacred poets of such a drama would, in the same way, have confined themselves to strictly scriptural themes, or to themes belonging to the earlier and more venerable traditions of the Church.
With regard to the subject of the present drama, there can be no doubt that, like the fall of Napoleon at Moscow, Leipzig, and Waterloo, in these latter days, so in ancient history there is no event more suited for the purposes of poetry than the expedition of Xerxes into Greece. There is “a beginning, a middle, and an end,” in this story, which might satisfy the critical demands of the sternest Aristotle; a moral also, than which no sermon ever preached from Greek stage or Christian pulpit is better calculated to tame the foolish pride, and to purify the turbid passions of humanity. In ancient and modern times, accordingly, from Chœrilus to Glover, the whole, or part of this subject has been treated, as its importance seemed to demand, epically;f2but of all the poetical glorifications of this high theme, that of Æschylus has alone succeeded in asserting for itself a permanent niche in the library of that select poetry which belongs to all times and all places.
Of the battle of Salamis and the expedition of Xerxes, as an historical event, it must be unnecessary for me to say a single word here, entitled, as I am, to presume that no reader of the plays of Æschylus can be ignorant of the main facts, and the tremendous moral significance of that event. I shall only mention, for the sake of those whose memory is not well exercised in chronology, that it took place in the autumn of the year 480 before Christ, ten years after the battle of Marathon, thirty years after the expulsion of the Tarquins from Rome, and eighty years after the foundation of the great Persian empire by Cyrus the great. Those who wish to read the descriptions of the poet with complete interest and satisfaction should peruse the 38th, 39th, 40th, and 41st chapters (Vol. V.), of Mr.Grote’s great work; and, if possible, also, the 7th and 8th books of Herodotus.f3
On the poetical merit of the Persians, as a work of art, a great authority, Schlegel, has pronounced that it is “undoubtedly the most imperfect of all the extant tragedies of this poet;” but, unless the historical theme be the stumbling-block, I really cannot see on what ground this judgment proceeds. As for the descriptive parts, the battle of Salamis, and the retreat of the routed monarch, are pictured with a vividness and a power to which nothing in this massive and manly author is superior; the interest to the reader being increased tenfold by the fact, that he is here dealing with a real event of the most important character, and recited by one of the best qualifiedof eye-witnesses. The moral of the piece, as already stated, is, in every respect, what in a great drama or epos could be desired; and, with respect to the lyrics, the Anapæstic march, and the choral chaunt in Ionic measure, with which it opens, has about it a breadth, a magnificence, and a solemnity surpassed only in the choral hymns of the Agamemnon. Not less effective, to an ancient audience, I am sure, must have been the grand antiphonal chaunt with which (as in The Seven against Thebes) the variously repeated wail of this tragedy is brought to a climax; and if the Bishop of London, and some other scholars, have thought this sad exhibition of national lamentation ridiculous, we ought to believe that these critics have forgot the difference between a modern reader and an ancient spectator, rather than that so great a master as Æschylus did not know how to distinguish between a tragedy and a farce.
In common with other historical poems, the Persians of Æschylus is not altogether free from the fault of bringing our imaginative faculty into collision with our understanding, by a partial suppression or exaggeration of historical truth. In the way of suppression, the most noticeable thing is, that the slave of Themistocles, who is described as having, by a false report to Xerxes, brought on the battle of Salamis, appears, according to the poet, to have cheated the Persians only; whereas, according to the real story, he cheated his countrymen also, and forced them to fight in that place against the will of the non-Athenian members of the confederation. In the way of exaggeration, again,Grote, in an able note,f4has shown what appear to me valid reasons for disbelieving the fact of the freezing of the Strymon, and its sudden thaw, described so piteously by our poet; while the very nature of the case plainly shows that the whole circumstances of the retreat, coming to us through Greek reporters, were very liable to exaggeration. This, however, in a poetical description, is a small matter. What appears to me much worse, and, indeed, the weakest point in the structure of the whole drama, is that the contrast between the character and conduct of Darius and that of his son is drawn in colours much too strong; the fact being that the son, in following the advice of Mardonius to attack Athens, was only carrying into execution the design of the father, and making use of his preparations.f5All that I have to say in defence of this misrepresentation is, that the poet wrote with a glowing patriotic heat what we now contemplate with a cold historical criticism. The greatest works of the greatest masters can, ashuman nature is constituted, seldom be altogether free from inconsistencies of this kind.
I have only further to add, that I have carefully read whatWelckerandGruppef6have written on the supposed ideal connection between the four pieces of the tetralogy, among which the Persians stands second, in the extant Greek argument;f7but that, while I admire exceedingly the learning and ingenuity of these writers, I doubt much the utility of attempting to restore the palaces of ancient art out of those few loose bricks which Time has spared us from the once compact mass. Poetry may be benefited by such speculations; Philology, I rather fear, has been injured.
Chorus,entering the Orchestra in procession. March time.
Chorus.
We are the Persian watchmen old,
The guardians true of the palace of gold,
Left to defend the Asian land,
When the army marched to Hellas’ strand;
Elders chosen by Xerxes the king,
The son of Darius, to hold the reins,
Till he the conquering host shall bring
Back to Susa’s sunny plains.
But the spirit within me is troubled and tossed,
When I think of the King and the Persian host;
And my soul, dark-stirred with the prophet’s mood,
Bodes nothing good.
For the strength of the Asian land went forth,
And my heart cries out for the young king’s worth
That marshalled them on to the war:f8
Nor herald, nor horseman, nor wandering fame,
Since then to the towers of the Persian came.
From Susa and from Ecbatana far,
And from the Cissian fortress old,f9
Strong in the ordered ranks of war
Forth they went, the warriors bold;
Horseman and footman and seaman went,
A vast and various armament.
Amistres, Artaphrenes, led the van,
Megabátes, Astaspes, obeyed the ban;
Persian leaders, kings from afar
Followed the great King’s call to the war.
Forth they went with arrow and bow,n1
And in clattering turms with chivalrous show;
To the eye of the dastard a terrible sight,
And with constancy mailed for the fight.
Artembáres in steeds delighting,
Imaeus the foe with the sure arrow smiting,
Pharandáces, Masistres, Sosthánes in war
Who lashes the steed, and drives the car.
The mighty and many-nurturing Nile
Sent forth many a swarthy file;
Susiscánes and Egypt’s son
Pegastágon lead them on.
Arsámes the mighty, whose word commands
The strength of the sacred Memphian bands,
And Ariomardus brave, whose sway
The sons of Ogygianf10Thebes obey.
And the countless host with sturdy oar
That plough the lagoons of the slimy shore,f11
And the Lydians march in luxurious pride,
And the tribes of the continent far and wide
Whom Arcteus and valiant Metragathes lead,
Kings that serve the great King’s need;
And the men who fight from the sharp-scythed car,
Whom golden Sardesn2sends to the war;
Some with two yoke, some with three,
A terrible sight to see.
And the sons of sacred Tmolus appearf12
On free-necked Hellas to lay the yoke,
Mardon and Tharybis, stiff to the spear
As the anvil is stiff to the hammer’s stroke.
And the men of Mysia skilful to throw
The well-poised dart,n3and they who ride
On wide Ocean’s swelling tide,
A mingled people with motley show
From golden Babylon, men who know
To point the arrow and bend the bow.
The Asian tribes that wear the swordn4
From far and near
The summons hear,
And follow the hest of their mighty Lord.
All the flower of the Persian youth hath gone,
And the land that nursed them is left alone
To pine with love’s delay;
And wives and mothers from day to day,
Fearing what birth
The time shall bring forth,
Fret the long-drawn hours away.
CHORAL HYMN.STROPHE I.
Proudly the kingly host,
City-destroying, crossed
Hence to the neighbouring
Contrary coast;
Paving the sea with planks,
Marched he his serried ranks:
Hellè’s swift-rushing stream,f13
Binding with cord and chain,
Forging a yoke
For the neck of the main.
ANTISTROPHE I.
King of a countless host,
Asia’s warlike boast,
Shepherd of many sheep,n5
Conquering crossed.
Trusting to men of might,
Footman and harnessed knight;
Son of a golden race,
Strong both by land and sea,
Equal to gods,
Though a mortal was he.
STROPHE II.
His eyes like the dragon’s dire
Flashing with dark blue fire,f14
See him appear!
Through the long lines of war
Driving the Syrian car,f15
Ares in arrows strong
Leading against the strong
Men of the spear!
ANTISTROPHE II.
When wave upon wave of men
Breaks through each Grecian glen,
Whelming the land,
War like wild Ocean’s tide,
What arm shall turn aside?
Persia’s stout-hearted race,
Hand to hand, face to face,
Who shall withstand?
MESODE.
But, when the gods deceive,n6
Wiles which immortals weave
Who shall beware?
Who, when their nets surround,
Breaks with a nimble bound
Out of the snare?
First they approach with smiles,
Wreathing their hidden wiles:
Then with surprise,
Seize they their prey; and lo!
Writhing in toils of woe
Tangled he lies.
STROPHE III.
Fate hath decreed it so,
Peace, peace, is not for thee!
Persia, hear and know,
War is the lot for thee!
Spake the supernal powers,
Charging of steeds shall be,
Taking of towns and towers,
Persia, to thee!
ANTISTROPHE III.
Where the sea, hoar with wrath,
Roars to the roaring blast,
Daring a doubtful path,
Persian hosts have passed;
Where wave on wave cresting on
Bristles with angry breath,
Cable and plank alone
Part them from death!
STROPHE IV.
Therefore is my soul within me
Murky-mantled, pricked with fear:
Alas! the Persian army! Never
May such cry invade my ear!
Susa, emptied of her children,
Desolate and drear!
ANTISTROPHE IV.
Never may the Cissian fortress
With such echo split the air;
Spare mine ears the shrieks of women,
And mine eyes the sad sight spare,
When fair hands the costly linen
From gentle bosoms tear!
STROPHE V.
For all our horse with frequent tramp,
And our footmen from the camp,
Even as bees on busy wing,
Swarmed out with the king:
And they paved their briny way,
Where beats the many-mingling spray
The bridge that joins the Thracian strand
To Asian land.f16
ANTISTROPHE V.
Wives bedew with many a tear
The couches where the partner dear
Hath been, and is not; Persian wives
Fret with desire their lives.
Far, far, he roams from land to land,
Her restless lord with lance in hand;
She in unmated grief to moan
Is left alone.
But come, ye Persian elders all,
Let us seat us beside this ancient hall;
Wise counsel to-day let us honestly frame,
Touching the fate of the kingly one,
Race of our race, and name of our name,
Darius’ godlike son:
For much it concerns us to know
Whether the winged shaft shot from the bow,
Or the strength of the pointed spear hath won.
But lo! where she comes, a moving light,
Like the eyes of the god so bright,
The mother of Xerxes, my queen.
Let us fall down before her with humble prostration,n7
And greet her to-day with a fair salutation,
The mother of Xerxes, my queen.
[ToAtossa,entering.] Mistress of the low-zoned women, queen of Persia’s daughters, hail!
Aged mother of King Xerxes, wife of great Darius, hail!
Spouse of him who was a god, and of a present god the mother,
If the ancient bliss that crowned it hath not left the Persian host.
EnterAtossa,drawn with royal pomp in a chariot.
Atossa.
Even this hath moved me, leaving these proud golden-garnished halls,
And the common sleeping chamber of Darius and myself,
Here to come. Sharp fear within me pricks my heart; I will declare
All the thoughts that deep perplex me to my friends; the secret fear
Lest our pride of ramping riches kick our sober weal in the dust,
Scattering wide what wealth Darius gathered, not without a god.
Twofold apprehension moves me, when I ponder this old truth;
Without men much riches profit little; without wealth the state,
Though in numbers much abounding, may not look on joyous light.
Riches are a thing not evil; but I tremble for the eye,
And the eye I call the presence of the master in the house.f17
Ye have heard my sorrows; make me sharer of your counsel now,
In what matter I shall tell you, ancient, trusty Persian men;
For with you my whole of wisdom, all my healthy counsels dwell.
Chorus.
Mistress of this land, believe it, never shalt thou ask a kindness,
Be it word from us or action, twice, while power shall aid the will;
We are willing to advise thee in this matter, what we may.
Atossa.
Since when my son departed with the army,
To bring destruction on Ionia,f18scarcely
One night hath been that did not bring me dreams;
But yesternight, with figurement most clear,
I dreamt; hear thou the theme. Methought I saw
Two women richly dight, in Persian robes
The one, the other in a Dorian dress,
Both tall above the vulgar stature, both
Of beauty blameless, and descended both
From the same race. The one on Hellas dwelt,
The other on fair Asia’s continent.
Between these twain some strife there seemed to rise;
Which when my son beheld, forthwith he seized them,
And joined them to his car, and made their necks
Submissive to the yoke. The one uptowered
In pride of harness, as rejoiced to follow
The kingly rein. The other kicked and plunged,
And tossed the gear away, and broke the traces,
The yoke in sunder snapt, and from the car
Ran reinless. On the ground my son was thrown,
And to his aid Darius pitying came,
Whom when he saw, my Xerxes rent his robes.
Such was my vision of the night; the morn
Brought a new portent with it. When I rose,
And dipped my hands in the fair-flowing fount,f8
And to the altar of the averting gods,
To whom such right pertains, with sacred cake
In sacrificial ministry advanced,
I saw an eagle flying to the altarn9
Of Phœbus; there all mute with fear I stood;
And after it in swiftest flight I saw
A hawk that darted on the eagle’s head,
And tore it with his claws, the royal bird
Yielding his glory meekly to be plucked.
These things I saw in fear, as ye in fear
Must hear them. Ye know well, my son commands
Supreme in Persia. Should success attend him,
’Tis well; but should mischance o’ertake him, he
Will rule in Susa as he ruled before;
No power is here to whom he owes account.
Chorus.
We advise thee, mother, neither with the feeble words of fear,
Nor with boastful courage. Turn thee to the gods in supplication:
Theirs it is to ward fulfilment of all evil-omened sights,
Bringing good to full fruition for thyself and for thy children,
For the city and all that love thee. Then a pure libation pour
To the Earth and to the Manes; with especial honor pray
The dread Shade of thy Darius whom thou sawest in the night,
To send blessings on thy Xerxes in the gladness of the day,
Keeping back unblissful sorrows in the sightless gloom of death.
Thus my soul its own divinerf19with a friendly kind concern
Counsels. Doubtless time will perfect happy fates for thee and thine.
Atossa.
Truly, with a friendly reading thou hast read my midnight dreams,
Words of strengthening solace speaking to my son and to my house.
May the gods all blessing perfect. I to them, as thou hast said,
And the Shades, the well-beloved, will perform befitting rites,
In the palace; meanwhile tell me this, for I would gladly know
Where, O friends, is famous Athens on the broad face of the Earth?n10
Chorus.
Far in the west: beside the setting of the lord of light the sun.
Atossa.
This same Athens, my son Xerxes longed with much desire to take.
Chorus.
Wisely: for all Greece submissive, when this city falls, will fall.
Atossa.
Are they many? do they number men enough to meet my son?
Chorus.
What they number was sufficient once to work the Medes much harm.
Atossa.
Other strength than numbers have they? wealth enough within themselves?
Chorus.
They can boast a fount of silver, native treasure to the land.f20
Atossa.
Are they bowmen good? sure-feathered do their pointed arrows fly?
Chorus.
Not so. Stable spears they carry, massy armature of shields.
Atossa.
Who is shepherd of this people? lord of the Athenian host?
Chorus.
Slaves are they to no man living, subject to no earthly name.n11
Atossa.
How can such repel the onset of a strong united host?
Chorus.
HowDarius knew in Hellas, when he lost vast armies there.
Atossa.
Things of deep concern thou speakest to all mothers in this land.
Chorus.
Thou shalt know anon exactly more than I can guess, for lo!
Here comes one—a hasty runner—he should be a Persian man.
News, I wis, this herald bringeth of deep import, good or bad.
EnterMessenger.
Messenger.
O towns and cities of wide Asia,
O Persian land, wide harbour of much wealth,
How hath one stroke laid all thy grandeur low,
One frost nipt all thy bloom! Woe’s me that I
Should be first bearer of bad news! but strong
Necessity commands to speak the truth.
Persians, the whole barbaric host hath perished.
STROPHE I.Chorus.
O misery! misery, dark and deep!
Dole and sorrow and woe!
Weep, ye Persians! wail and weep,
For wounds that freshly flow!
Messenger.
All, all is ruined: not a remnant left.
Myself, against all hope, see Persia’s sun.
ANTISTROPHE I.Chorus.
O long, too long, through creeping years
Hath the life of the old man lasted,
To see—and nurse his griefs with tears—
The hopes of Persia blasted!
Messenger.
I speak no hearsay: what these eyes beheld
Of blackest evil, Persians, I declare.
STROPHE II.Chorus.
Ah me! all in vain against Hellas divine
Were the twanging bow and whizzing reed,
All vainly mustered the thickly clustered
Armies of the Mede!
Messenger.
The shores of Salamis, and all around
With the thick bodies of our dead are peopled.
ANTISTROPHE II.Chorus.
Alas! the wreck of the countless host!
The sundered planks, and the drifted dead,n12
Rocked to and fro, with the ebb and the flow
On a wavy-wandering bed!
Messenger.
Vain were our shafts; our mighty multitude
Vanished before their brazen-beaked attack.
STROPHE III.Chorus.
Sing ye, sing ye a sorrowful song,
Lift ye, lift ye a piercing cry!
Our harnessed throng and armies strong
Lost and ruined utterly!
Messenger.
O hated name to hear, sad Salamis!
O Athens, I remember thee with groans.
ANTISTROPHE III.Chorus.
O Athens, Athens, thou hast reft us
Of our all we did possess!
Sonless mothers thou hast left us,
Weeping wives and husbandless!
Atossa.
Thou see’st I have kept silence: this sad stroke
Hath struck me dumb, as powerless to give voice
To my own sorrows, as to ask another’s.
Yet when the gods send trouble, mortal men
Must learn to bear it. Therefore be thou calm;
Unfold the perfect volume of our woes,
And, though the memory grieve thee, let us hear
Thy tale to the end; what loss demands our tears,
Which of the baton-bearing chiefsf21hath left
An army to march home without a head.
Messenger.
Xerxes yet lives, and looks on the light.
Atossa.
Much light
In this to me, and to my house thou speakest,
A shining day from out a pitchy night.
Messenger.
Artembares, captain of ten thousand horse,
Upon the rough Silenian shoresf22lies dead,
And Dadaces, the chiliarch, spear-struck fell
Precipitate from his ship—an easy leap;
And noble Tenagon, a pure Bactrian born,
Around the sea-lashed isle of Ajax floats.
Lilaeus, Arsames, Argestes, these
The waves have made their battering ram, to beat
The hard rocks of the turtle-nurturing isle.
Pharnuchus, Pheresseues, and Adeues,
And Arcteus from their native Nile-spring far
Fell from one ship into one grave. Matallus,
The Chrysian myriontarch, who led to Hellas
Full thrice ten thousand sable cavalry,
His thick and bushy beard’s long tawny pride
Hath dyed in purple gore. The Magian Arabus
The Bactrian Artames on the self-same shore
Have found no cushioned lodgment.f23There Amestris,n13
And there Amphistreus, wielder of the spear,
And there Metragathes lies, for whom the Sardians
Weep well-earned tears; and Sersames, the Mysian.
With them, of five times fifty ships commander,
Lyrnaean Tharybis, a goodly man,
Lies hopeless stretched on the unfriendly strand.
Syennesis, the brave Cilician chief
Who singly wrought more trouble to the foe
Than thousands, died with a brave man’s report.
These names I tell thee of the chiefs that fell,
A few selecting out of many losses.
Atossa.
Alas! alas! more than enough I hear;
Shame to the Persians and shrill wails. But say,
Retracing thy discourse, what was the number
Of the Greek ships that dared with Persia’s fleet
To engage, and grapple beak to beak.
Messenger.
If number
Of ships might gain the fight, believe me, queen,
The victory had been ours. The Greeks could tell
But ten times thirty ships, with other ten,
Of most select equipment. Xerxes numbered
A thousand ships, two hundred sail and seven
Of rapid wing beside. Of this be assured,
What might of man could do was done to save us;
Some god hath ruined us, not weighing justly
An equal measure. Pallas saves her city.n14
Atossa.
The city? is it safe? does Athens stand?
Messenger.
It stands without the fence of walls. Men wall it.
Atossa.
But say, who first commenced the fight—the Greeks
Or, in his numbers strong, my kingly son.
Messenger.
Some evil god, or an avenging spirit,f24
Began the fray. From the Athenian fleet
There came a Greek,n15and thus thy son bespoke.
“Soon as the gloom of night shall fall, the Greeks
No more will wait, but, rushing to their oars,
Each man will seek his safety where he may,
By secret flight.” This Xerxes heard, but knew not
The guile of Greece, nor yet the jealous gods,
And to his captains straightway gave command
That, when the sun withdrew his burning beams,
And darkness filled the temple of the sky,n16
In triple lines their ships they should dispose,
Each wave-plashed outlet guarding, fencing round
The isle of Ajax surely. Should the Greeks
Deceive this guard, or with their ships escape
In secret flight, each captain with his head
Should pay for his remissness. These commands
With lofty heart, thy son gave forth, nor thought
What harm the gods were weaving. They obeyed.
Each man prepared his supper, and the sailors
Bound the lithe oar to its familiar block.
Then, when the sun his shining glory paled,
And night swooped down, each master of the oar,
Each marshaller of arms, embarked; and then
Line called on line to take its ordered place.
All night they cruised, and, with a moving belt,
Prisoned the frith, till day ’gan peep, and still
No stealthy Greek the expected flight essayed.
But when at length the snowy-steeded Day
Burst o’er the main, all beautiful to see,
First from the Greeks a tuneful shout uprose,
Well-omened, and, with replication loud,
Leapt the blithe echo from the rocky shore.
Fear seized the Persian host, no longer tricked
By vain opinion; not like wavering flight
Billowed the solemn pæan of the Greeks,
But like the shout of men to battle urging,
With lusty cheer. Then the fierce trumpet’s voice
Blazedf25o’er the main; and on the salt sea flood
Forthwith the oars, with measured plash, descended,
And all their lines, with dexterous speed displayed,
Stood with opposing front. The right wing first,
Then the whole fleet bore down, and straight uprose
A mighty shout. “Sons of the Greeks, advance!
Your country free, your children free, your wives!
The altars of your native gods deliver,
And your ancestral tombs—all’s now at stake!”
A like salute from our whole line back-rolled
In Persian speech. Nor more delay, but straight
Trireme on trireme, brazen beak on beak
Dashed furious. A Greek ship led on the attack,f26
And from the prow of a Phœnician struck
The figure-head; and now the grapple closed
Of each ship with his adverse desperate.
At first the main line of the Persian fleet
Stood the harsh shock; but soon their multitude
Became their ruin; in the narrow frith
They might not use their strength, and, jammed together,
Their ships with brazen beaks did bite each other,
And shattered their own oars. Meanwhile the Greeks
Stroke after stroke dealt dexterous all around,
Till our ships showed their keels, and the blue sea
Was seen no more, with multitude of ships
And corpses covered. All the shores were strewn,
And the rough rocks, with dead; till, in the end,
Each ship in the barbaric host, that yet
Had oars, in most disordered flight rowed off.
As men that fish for tunnies, so the Greeks,
With broken booms, and fragments of the wreck,
Struck our snared men, and hacked them, that the sea,
With wail and moaning, was possessed around,
Till black-eyed Night shot darkness o’er the fray.f27
These ills thou hearest: to rehearse the whole,
Ten days were few; but this, my queen, believe,
No day yet shone on Earth whose brightness looked
On such a tale of death.
Atossa.
A sea of woes
On Persia bursts, and all the Persian name!
Messenger.
Thou hast not heard the half: another woe
Remains, that twice outweighs what I have told.
Atossa.
What worse than this? Say what mischance so strong
To hurt us more, being already ruined?
Messenger.
The bloom of all the Persian youth, in spirit
The bravest, and in birth the noblest, princes
In whom thy son placed his especial trust,
All by a most inglorious doom have perished.
Atossa.
O wretched me, that I should live to hear it!
But by what death did Persia’s princes die?
Messenger.
There is an islet, fronting Salamis,
To ships unfriendly, of dance-loving Pann17
The chosen haunt, and near the Attic coast.
Here Xerxes placed his chiefest men, that when
The routed Greeks should seek this strand, our troops
Might both aid friends, where friends their aid required,
And kill the scattered Greeks, an easy prey;
Ill-auguring what should hap! for when the gods
Gave to the Greeks the glory of the day,f28
Straightway well-cased in mail from their triremes
They leapt, rushed on the isle, and hedged it round,
That neither right nor left our men might turn,
But fell in heaps, some struck by rattling stones,
Some pierced by arrows from the twanging bow.
Then, in one onslaught fiercely massed, the Greeks
Our fenceless chiefs in slashing butchery
Mowed down, till not one breath remained to groan.
But Xerxes groaned: for from a height that rose
From the sea-shore conspicuous,f29with clear view
He mustered the black fortune of the fight.
His stole he rent, and lifting a shrill wail
Gave the poor remnant of his host command
To flee; and fled with them. Lament with me,
This second sorrow heaped upon the first.
Atossa.
O dismal god! how has thy hate deceived
The mind of the Mede! A bitter vengeance truly
Hath famous Athens wreaked on my poor son,
To all the dead that fell at Marathon
Adding this slaughter!—O my son! my son!
Thyself hast paid the penalty that thou
Went to inflict on others!—But let me hear
Where hast thou left the few ships that escaped?
Messenger.
The remnant of the fleet with full sail sped
Swift in disordered flight from Salamis.
The wreck of the army through Bœotia trailed
Its sickly line: there some of thirst fell dead
Even in the water’s view; some with fatigue
Panting toiled on through Phocian land, and Doris,
And passed the Melian gulf, where through the plain
Spercheius rolls his fructifying flood.
Then faint and famished the Achaean land
Received us, and fair Thessaly’s city; there
The most of hunger died and thirst; for with
This double plague we struggled. Next Magnesia
And Macedonian ground we traversed; then
The stream of Axius, reedy Bolbe’s mere,
The Edonian fields, and the Pangaean hills.
But here some godf30stirred winter premature,
And in the night froze Strymon’s holy stream.
Then men who never worshipped gods before
Called on the heavens and on the Earth to save them,
With many prayers, in vain. A few escaped,
What few had crossed the ice-compacted flood
Ere the strong god of light shot forth his rays.
For soon the lustrous orb of day shone out
With blazing beams, unbound the stream, and oped
Inevitable fate beneath them: then
Man upon man in crowded ruin fell,
And he was happiest who the soonest died.
We who survived, a miserable wreck,
Struggled through Thrace slowly with much hard toil,n18
And stand again on Persian ground, and see
Our native hearths. Much cause the city has
To weep the loss of her selectest youth.
These words are true: much I omit to tell
Of all the woes a god hath smote withal
Our Persian land.
Chorus.
O sorely-vexing god,
How hast thou trampled ’neath no gentle foot
The Persian race!
Atossa.
Woe’s me! the army’s lost.
O dreamy shapes night wandering, too clearly
Your prophecy spoke truth! But you, good Seniors,
Sorry expounders though ye be, in one thing
I will obey. I will go pray the gods,
As ye advised; then gifts I will present
To Earth and to the Manes. I will offer,
The sacred cake to appease them. For the past,
’Tis past beyond all change; but hope may be
To make the gods propitious for the future.
Meanwhile your counsel in this need I crave;
A faithful man is mighty in mischance.
My son, if he shall come ere I return,
Cheer him with friendly words, and see him safe,
Lest to this ill some worser woe be added. [Exit.
Chorus.
O Jove, king Jove destroyed hast thou
Our high-vaunting countless hosts!
Our high-vaunting countless hosts
Where be they now?
Susa’s glory, Ecbatana’s pride,
In murky sorrow thou didst hide,
And with delicate hands the virgins fair
Their white veils tear,
And salt streams flow from bright fountains of woe,
And rain on the bosoms of snow.
They whose love was fresh and young,
Where are now their husbands strong?
The soft delights of the nuptial bed
With purple spread,
Where, where be they?
They have lost the joy of their jocund years,
And they weep with insatiate tears:
And I will reply with my heart’s strong cry,
And lift the doleful lay.
CHORAL HYMN.STROPHE I.
Asia from each furthest corner
Weeps her woes, a sonless mourner;
Xerxes a wild chase pursuing,
Xerxes led thee to thy ruin;
Xerxes, luckless fancies wooing,
Trimmed vain fleets for thy undoing.
Not like him the old Darius
Shattered thus from Hellas came;
Rightly he is honoured by us,
Susa’s bowman without blame.