Æschylos Tragedies and Fragments. Aeschylus
to the Persians brave
Tellest of ills on ills.
Xer. Ah, thou dost wake in me
The memory of the spell of yearning love
For comrades brave and true,
Telling of cursed ills,
Yea, cursed, hateful doom;
And lo, within my frame
My heart cries out, cries out.
Chor. Yea, another too we long for,
Xanthes, captain of ten thousand
Mardian warriors, and Anchares
Arian born, and great Arsakes
And Diæxis, lords of horsemen,
Kigdagatas and Lythimnas,
Tolmos, longing for the battle:
Much I marvel, much I marvel,71
For they come not, as the rear-guard
Of thy tent on chariot mounted.72
Xer. Gone those rulers of the army.
Chor. Gone are they in death inglorious.
Xer. Ah woe! ah woe! Alas! alas!
Chor. Ah! the Gods have sent upon us
Ill we never thought to look on,
Eminent above all others;
Ne'er hath Atè seen its equal.
Smitten we by many sorrows,
Such as come on men but seldom.
Chor. Smitten we, 'tis all too certain…
Xer. Fresh woes! fresh woes! ah me!
Chor. Now with adverse turn of fortune,
With Ionian seamen meeting,
Fails in war the race of Persians.
Xer. Too true. Yea I and that vast host of mine
Are smitten down.
Chor. Too true – the Persians' majesty and might
Have perished utterly.
Xer. See'st thou this remnant of my armament?
Chor. I see it, yea, I see.
Xer. (pointing to his quiver.) Dost see thou that
which arrows wont to hold?..
Chor. What speak'st thou of as saved?
Xer. This treasure-store for darts.
Chor. Few, few of many left!
Xer. Thus we all helpers lack.
Chor. Ionian soldiers flee not from the spear.
Xer. Yea, very brave are they, and I have seen
Unlooked-for woe.
Chor. Wilt tell of squadron of our sea-borne ships
Defeated utterly?
Xer. I tore my robes at this calamity.
Chor. Ah me, ah me, ah me.
Xer. Ay, more than all 'ah me's'!
Chor. Twofold and threefold ills!
Xer. Grievous to us – but joy,
Great joy, to all our foes!
Chor. Lopped off is all our strength.
Xer. Stripped bare of escort I!
Chor. Yea, by sore loss at sea
Disastrous to thy friends.
Xer. Weep for our sorrow, weep,
Yea, go ye to the house.
Chor. Woe for our griefs, woe, woe!
Xer. Cry out an echoing cry.
Chor. Ill gift of ills on ills.
Xer. Weep on in wailing chant.
Chor. Oh! ah! Oh! ah!
Xer. Grievous our bitter woes.
Chor. Ah me, I mourn them sore.
Xer. Ply, ply your hands and groan;
Yea, for my sake bewail.
Chor. I weep in bitter grief.
Xer. Cry out an echoing cry.
Chor. Yea, we may raise our voice,
O Lord and King, in wail.
Xer. Raise now shrill cry of woe.
Chor. Ah me! Ah! Woe is me!
Xer. Yea, with it mingle dark…
Chor. And bitter, grievous blows.
Xer. Yea, beat thy breast, and cry
After the Mysian type.
Chor. Oh, misery! oh, misery!
Xer. Yea, tear the white hair off thy flowing beard.
Chor. Yea; with clenched hands, with clenchèd hands, I say,
In very piteous guise.
Xer. Cry out, cry out aloud.
Chor. That also will I do.
Xer. And with thy fingers tear
Thy bosom's folded robe.
Chor. Oh, misery! oh, misery!
Xer. Yea, tear thy hair in wailing for our host.
Chor. Yea, with clenched hands, I say, with clenchèd hands,
In very piteous guise.
Xer. Be thine eyes wet with tears.
Chor. Behold the tears stream down.
Xer. Raise a re-echoing cry.
Chor. Ah woe! ah woe!
Xer. Go to thy home with wailing loud and long.
Chor. O land of Persia, full of lamentations!
Xer. Through the town raise your cries.
Chor. We raise them, yea, we raise.
Xer. Wail, wail, ye men that walked so daintily.
Chor. O land of Persia, full of lamentations!
Woe; woe!
Xer.
Another reading gives —
“They are buried, they are buried.”
Perhaps referring to the waggon-chariots in which the rider reclines at ease, either protected by a canopy, or, as in the Assyrian sculptures and perhaps in the East generally, overshadowed by a large umbrella which an eunuch holds over him.