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Him, thine all-trusty eye,

The hosts of Persia who told o'er

By ten times fifty score,

Alphistos, Batanochos' heir,

Sesames' son, who owed his birth

To Megabates, him didst leave,

Parthos and great Œbares there

Didst leave to die?

Unhappy men! ah me!

Persians of highest worth!

For them dire ills on ills I hear from thee,

And sighs of anguish heave.

Ah me! Alas! Woe! Woe!

A thrill of tender pain

For my brave comrades' sake,

Telling of ills most hateful, thou dost wake.

Cries out my very heart, yea, cries amain.

We for another mourn,

Of Mardia's myriad host the head,

Xanthos;—Anchares, Arian-born,

Diæxis and Arsaces, who

Afield our mounted forces led,

Kigdagatas and Lythimnas,

War-craving Tolmos—these, alas,

These mourn we too.

Sorrow astounds, ah me,

Sorrow astounds my mind