Part 12 (1/2)
Gone from you is your joy and pride- Severed the bridegroom from the bride- The wedded couch luxurious Is widowed now, and all the house Pines ever with insatiate sighs, And we stand here and bid arise, For those who forth in ardour went And come not back, the loud lament!
Land of the East, thou mournest for the host, Bereft of all thy sons, alas the day!
For them whom Xerxes led hath Xerxes lost- Xerxes who wrecked the fleet, and flung our hopes away!
How came it that Darius once controlled, And without scathe, the army of the bow, Loved by the folk of Susa, wise and bold?
Now is the land-force lost, the s.h.i.+pmen sunk below!
Ah for the s.h.i.+ps that bore them, woe is me!
Bore them to death and doom! the cras.h.i.+ng prows Of fierce Ionian oarsmen swept the sea, And death was in their wake, and s.h.i.+pwreck murderous!
Late, late and hardly-if true tales they tell- Did Xerxes flee along the wintry way And snows of Thrace-but ah, the first who fell Lie by the rocks or float upon Cychrea's bay!
Mourn, each and all! waft heavenward your cry, Stung to the soul, bereaved, disconsolate!
Wail out your anguish, till it pierce the sky, In shrieks of deep despair, ill-omened, desperate!
The dead are drifting, yea, are gnawed upon By voiceless children of the stainless sea, Or battered by the surge! we mourn and groan For husbands gone to death, for childless agony!
Alas the aged men, who mourn to-day The ruinous sorrows that the G.o.ds ordain!
O'er the wide Asian land, the Persian sway Can force no tribute now, and can no rule sustain.
Yea, men will crouch no more to fallen power And kings.h.i.+p overthrown! the whole land o'er, Men speak the thing they will, and from this hour The folk whom Xerxes ruled obey his word no more.
The yoke of force is broken from the neck- The isle of Ajax and th' encircling wave Reek with a b.l.o.o.d.y crop of death and wreck Of Persia's fallen power, that none can lift nor save!
[Re-enter ATOSSA, in mourning robes.
ATOSSA
Friends, whosoe'er is versed in human ills, Knoweth right well that when a wave of woe Comes on a man, he sees in all things fear; While, in flood-tide of fortune, 'tis his mood To take that fortune as unchangeable, Wafting him ever forward. Mark me now- The G.o.ds' thwart purpose doth confront mine eyes, And all is terror to me; in mine ears There sounds a cry, but not of triumph now- So am I scared at heart by woe so great.
Therefore I wend forth from the house anew, Borne in no car of state, nor robed in pride As heretofore, but bringing, for the sire Who did beget my son, libations meet For holy rites that shall appease the dead- The sweet white milk, drawn from a spotless cow, The oozing drop of golden honey, culled By the flower-haunting bee, and therewithal Pure draughts of water from a virgin spring; And lo! besides, the stainless effluence, Born of the wild vine's bosom, s.h.i.+ning store Treasured to age, this bright and luscious wine.
And eke the fragrant fruit upon the bough Of the grey olive-tree, which lives its life In sprouting leaf.a.ge, and the twining flowers, Bright children of the earth's fertility.
But you, O friends! above these offerings poured To reconcile the dead, ring out your dirge To summon up Darius from the shades, Himself a shade; and I will pour these draughts, Which earth shall drink, unto the G.o.ds of h.e.l.l.
CHORUS
Queen, by the Persian land adored, By thee be this libation poured, Pa.s.sing to those who hold command Of dead men in the spirit-land!
And we will sue, in solemn chant, That G.o.ds who do escort the dead In nether realms, our prayer may grant- Back to us be Darius led!
O Earth, and Hermes, and the king Of Hades, our Darius bring!
For if, beyond the prayers we prayed, He knoweth aught of help or aid, He, he alone, in realms below, Can speak the limit of our woe!
Doth he hear me, the king we adored, who is G.o.d among G.o.ds of the dead?
Doth he hear me send out in my sorrow the pitiful, manifold cry, The sobbing lament and appeal? is the voice of my suffering sped To the realm of the shades? doth he hear me and pity my sorrowful sigh?
O Earth, and ye Lords of the dead! release ye that spirit of might, Who in Susa the palace was born! let him rise up once more to the light!
There is none like him, none of all That e'er were laid in Persian sepulchres!
Borne forth he was to honoured burial, A royal heart! and followed by our tears.
G.o.d of the dead, O give him back to us, Darius, ruler glorious!
He never wasted us with reckless war- G.o.d, counsellor, and king, beneath a happy star!
Ancient of days and king, awake and come- Rise o'er the mounded tomb!
Rise, plant thy foot, with saffron sandal shod Father to us, and G.o.d!
Rise with thy diadem, O sire benign, Upon thy brow!
List to the strange new sorrows of thy line, Sire of a woeful son!
A mist of fate and h.e.l.l is round us now, And all the city's flower to death is done!
Alas, we wept thee once, and weep again!