The Persians

CHORUS, STROPHE C: Raise a mournful, doleful cry
for Persians wretched:
all they made, all woe.
Alas! the host destroyed.

MESSENGER: O most hateful name of Salamis!
O woe! how I groan recalling Athens.

CHORUS, ANTISTROPHE C: Athens hateful to her foes.
Recall how many
Persian women are widowed,
and mothers have lost their sons.

QUEEN: Long am I silent, alas! struck down
by disasters exceeding speech and question.
Yet humans must perforce endure misfortunes
that are sent by the gods.

MESSENGER: Had numbers counted,
the barbarian warships surely would have won;
the Greeks but numbered thirty tens, and ten
apart from these a chosen squadron formed.
But Xerxes—and this I know full well—
a thousand, of which seven and two hundred
ranked supreme in swiftness. The count stood so.
Seemed we unequal? Some deity destroyed
our host, who weighing down the balance swung
the beam of fortune. The gods saved the city
of the goddess Pallas.

MESSENGER: Either an avenger or a wicked
god, my lady (whence it came I know not),
began the whole disaster. From Athenian
ranks a Greek approached, addressing Xerxes
thud: “When the gloom of blackest night
will fall, the Greeks will not remain, but leap
to their rowing benches, and each by secret course
will save his life.” And he your son, upon
his hearing this, in ignorance of Greek
guile and the jealousy of gods,
harangued his captains publicly: “As soon
as sunlit rays no longer burn the earth,
[…] rank the swarm of ships in three flotillas:
have them guard the entrances, the straits sea-pound;
and girdle others round Ajax’ island.
But if the Greeks escape their evil doom,
contriving secret flight, all your heads
will roll. I warrant it.” So he spoke
in confident pride: of the god-given future
he knew nothing.

MESSENGER: At once
concordant strokes of oars in roaring eddies
slapped the waters’ depths: soon we saw
them all: first the right wing led in order,
next advanced the whole armada.
A great concerted cry we heard: “O Greek
sons, advance! Free your fathers’ land,
free your sons, your wives, the sanctuaries
of paternal gods, the sepulchers
of ancestors. Now the contest’s drawn:
all is at stake!”

QUEEN: Ah! woe is me, the army all destroyed.
O bright night’s spectacle of dreams,
how clearly you foresaw my woe,
and you, my counselors, how poorly you have judged.
But yet, as you counseled thus,
first to the gods I’ll offer prayer; and then
to Earth and the dead I’ll come to offer gifts
from the house, a rich libation. I know I pray
for what is done and gone, but a brighter
fortune, in time to come, may there yet be.

QUEEN: O god! How many sorrows move against me!
But one torment bites me deepest of all,
to hear how such dishonor holds my son’s
body and its robes. So I shall go
to gather proper clothing, and try to meet
him as he comes. When evils fall on those
we dearly love, never shall we betray them.