Æschylos Tragedies and Fragments. Aeschylus

to the Persians brave

      Tellest of ills on ills.

Antistrophe III

      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

Strophe IV

      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.

Antistrophe IV

      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.

Strophe V

      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.

Antistrophe V

      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.

Strophe VI

      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.

Antistrophe VI

      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.

Strophe VII

      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.

Antistrophe VII

      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.

Epode

      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.

71

Another reading gives —

“They are buried, they are buried.”

72

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.