Page:The Dramas of Aeschylus (Swanwick).djvu/323

Rh These chiefs on tented cars no more to see

Thy royal pomp behind.

For lost are they our host who led.

Lost amid the nameless dead.

Woe! Woe! Alas! Woe! Woe!

Woe! Woe! in sooth, for lo!

Ill so unlooked for and pre-eminent

As Atè ne'er beheld, the gods have sent.

Stricken are we by heaven-sent blow.

Stricken, in sooth, too plain our woe.

Fresh griefs, fresh griefs, ah me!

Meeting Ionian seamen, we

Have now, alas, encountered dire disgrace;

Unfortunate in war is Persia's race.

Stricken, too true, with host so great.