Page:Four Plays of Aeschylus (1908) Morshead.djvu/115

Rh Mourn, each and all! waft heavenward your cry,

Stung to the soul, bereaved, disconsolate!

Wail out your anguish, till it pierce the sky,

In shrieks of deep despair, ill-omened, desperate!

The dead are drifting, yea, are gnawed upon

By voiceless children of the stainless sea,

Or battered by the surge! we mourn and groan

For husbands gone to death, for childless agony!

Alas the aged men, who mourn to-day

The ruinous sorrows that the gods ordain!

O'er the wide Asian land, the Persian sway

Can force no tribute now, and can no rule sustain.

Yea, men will crouch no more to fallen power

And kingship overthrown! the whole land o'er,

Men speak the thing they will, and from this hour

The folk whom Xerxes ruled obey his word no more.

The yoke of force is broken from the neck—

The isle of Ajax and th' encircling wave

Reek with a bloody crop of death and wreck

Of Persia's fallen power, that none can lift nor save!

[Re-enter, in mourning robes.

Friends, whosoe'er is versed in human ills,

Knoweth right well that when a wave of woe

Comes on a man, he sees in all things fear;

While, in flood-tide of fortune, 'tis his mood

To take that fortune as unchangeable,

Wafting him ever forward. Mark me now—

The gods' thwart purpose doth confront mine eyes,