Æschylos Tragedies and Fragments. Aeschylus

      Chor. What then, O King Dareios? To what end

      Lead'st thou thy speech? And how, in this our plight,

      Could we, the Persian people, prosper best?

      Dar. If ye no more attack the Hellenes' land,

      E'en though the Median host outnumbers theirs.

      To them the very land is true ally.

      Chor. What meanest thou? How fights the land for them?

      Dar. *It slays with famine those vast multitudes.

      Chor. We then a host, select, compact, will raise.

      Dar. Nay, e'en the host which now in Hellas stays59

      Will ne'er return in peace and safety home.

      Chor. How say'st thou? Does not all the barbarous host

      Cross from Europa o'er the straits of Hellè?

      Dar. But few of many; if 'tis meet for one

      Who looks upon the things already done

      To trust the oracles of Gods; for they,

      Not these or those, but all, are brought to pass:

      If this be so, then, resting on vain hopes,60

      He leaves a chosen portion of his host:

      And they abide where, watering all the plain,

      Asôpos pours his fertilising stream

      Dear to Bœotian land; and there of ills

      The topmost crown awaits them, penalty

      Of wanton outrage and of godless thoughts;

      For they to Hellas coming, held not back

      In awe from plundering sculptured forms of Gods61

      And burning down their temples; and laid low

      Are altars, and the shrines of Gods o'erthrown,

      E'en from their base. They therefore having wrought

      Deeds evil, now are suffering, and will suffer

      Evil not less, and not as yet is seen

      E'en the bare groundwork of the ills, but still

      They grow up to completeness. Such a stream

      Of blood and slaughter soon shall flow from them

      By Dorian spear upon Platæan ground,62

      And heaps of corpses shall to children's children,

      Though speechless, witness to the eyes of men

      That mortal man should not wax overproud;

      For wanton pride from blossom grows to fruit,

      The full corn in the ear, of utter woe,

      And reaps a tear-fraught harvest. Seeing then,

      Such recompense of these things, cherish well

      The memory of Athens and of Hellas;

      Let no man in his scorn of present fortune,

      And thirst for other, mar his good estate;

      Zeus is the avenger of o'er-lofty thoughts,

      A terrible controller. Therefore now,

      Since voice of God bids him be wise of heart,

      Admonish him with counsel true and good

      To cease his daring sacrilegious pride;

      And thou, O Xerxes' mother, old and dear,

      Go to thy home, and taking what apparel

      Is fitting, go to meet thy son; for all

      The costly robes around his limbs are torn

      To rags and shreds in grief's wild agony.

      But do thou gently soothe his soul with words;

      For he to thee alone will deign to hearken;

      But I must leave the earth for darkness deep:

      And ye, old men, farewell, although in woe,

      And give your soul its daily bread of joy;

      For to the dead no profit bringeth wealth.