Page:Four Plays of Aeschylus (1908) Morshead.djvu/130

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Ah welladay, my King! ah woe

For all our heroes' overthrow—

For all the gallant host's array,

For Persia's honour, pass'd away,

For glory and heroic sway

Mown down by Fortune's hand to-day!

Hark, how the kingdom makes its moan,

For youthful valour lost and gone,

By Xerxes shattered and undone!

He, he hath crammed the maw of hell

With bowmen brave, who nobly fell,

Their country's mighty armament,

Ten thousand heroes deathward sent!

Alas, for all the valiant band,

O king and lord! thine Asian land

Down, down upon its knee is bent!

Alas, a lamentable sound,

A cry of ruth! for I am found

A curse to land and lineage,

With none my sorrow to assuage!

Alas, a death-song desolate

I send forth, for thy home-coming!

A scream, a dirge for woe and fate,

Such as the Asian mourners sing,

A sorry and ill-omened tale

Of tears and shrieks and Eastern wail!