Page:The Dramas of Aeschylus (Swanwick).djvu/297

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An isle there is that fronteth Salamis,

Small, with bad anchorage, whose sea-washed beach

Dance-loving Pan doth haunt; thither the King

Sendeth these chiefs, that, when the worsted foe

Should in the isle seek safety, Persia's sons

Might slay the host of Hellas, easy prey,

And from the briny channels save their friends,

Ill-guessing the to-come: for when the god

The Hellenès crowned with glory of the fight,

On that same day, with shields of well-wrought brass

Fencing their bodies, from their ships they leapt,

And the whole isle encompassed; so our men

Knew not which way to turn; oft time by stones

Pelted from foeman's hand, while arrows keen,

Thick raining from the bow-string, smote them down;

Rushing at last with simultaneous shout,

The Hellenès hacked and carved the victims' limbs,

Till they, poor wretches, all of life were reaved.

But Xerxes groaned, seeing the depth of ills;

For on a lofty height, hard by the sea,

His seat he held, o'erlooking all the host.

His garments rending, a shrill cry he raised,

To his land troops forthwith dispatch'd command,

And sped in flight disordered. Thine it is

To wail this sorrow added to the first.

O hateful Demon, how thou hast belied

The hopes of Persians! Bitter punishment