Page:Four Plays of Aeschylus (Cookson).djvu/81

Rh

Nay,

Darius' armament this kingless folk

For all its splendour and its numbers broke

And utterly destroyed.

There's matter here

For anxious questionings, not without fear,

For all whose sons went up 'gainst Athens.

Thou,

O Queen, if that I err not, shalt even now

Hear the authentic story. Here is a man

Able to tell us how the Persians ran

In this momentous race; and, whether good

Or ill his tidings, he brings certitude.

Ye habitations of broad Asia,

And thou, O land of Persia, receipt

Of affluent wealth, how much and how great glory

Hath perished at a blow! Of Persian men

The flower is fall'n and [sic]vaded! Woe is me!

Ill is it to be the bearer of bad tidings,

And yet, for hard necessity constrains,

I am to cloak up nothing, Persians—tell

The woeful tale to the end! All's lost; the power

Of Barbary is utterly destroyed.

O unimagined ruin, dark and drear

And fathomlessly deep!