The Persians

CHORUS, ANTISTROPHE A: And the furious leader the herd
of populous Asia he drives,
wonderful over the earth,
and admirals stern and rough
marshals of men he trusts:
gold his descent from Perseus,
he is the equal of a god.

CHORUS, STROPHE B: In his eyes lazuli flashing
like a snake’s murderous glances,
with his mariners, warriors, many,
and his Syrian chariot driving,
hard on the glorious spearmen
the archer Ares he leads.

CHORUS, ANTISTROPHE B: To the great torrent of heroes
there is none worthily equal,
who resist, by defenses secured,
the unconquerable billows of ocean:
Persians are never defeated,
the people tempered and brave.

CHORUS, STROPHE E: All the horse and infantry
like a swarm of bees have gone
with the captain of the host,
who joined the headlands of either land,
crossing the yoke of the sea.

CHORUS, ANTISTROPHE E: Beds with longing fill with tears,
Persian wives in softness weep;
each her armed furious lord
dismissed with gentle love and grief,
left all alone in the yoke.

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.

CHORUS, STROPHE C: They throughout the Asian land
no more will Persian laws obey,
no more the lordly tribute pay,
exacted by compulsion;
nor falling faceward to the earth,
will they make obeisance now:
lost is the kingly power.

CHORUS, ANTISTROPHE C:
Nay, no longer is the tongue
kept in check, but loose are men
when loosened is the yoke of power,
to shout aloud their liberty.
And Ajax’ island, soaked with blood,
its earth, and washed round by the sea,
holds the remains of Persia.

QUEEN: My friends, if one’s experienced in troubles,
One knows that, when a flood of evil comes,
we tend to fear for everything; but when
a god provides an easy voyage, we think
that fortune’s never-ending wind will blow
forever. So now, to me all things are full of the fear
and visions from the gods assail my eyes,
and my ears already ring with cureless songs:
thus consternation terrifies my sense.
Therefore I departed from the palace,
returning here, unaccompanied
by chariots, by pomp and ceremony:
to the father of my son I bring
libations, propitious offerings for the dead.

XERXES, STROPHE A (singing): Here I am, ah, most lamentable:
to my native and ancestral land
I’ve become nothing but evil.

CHORUS (singing): Loudly shall I send, to greet your return,
an evil-omened shout, an evil-practiced cry:
a weeping wail I shall sing,
the wail of a Mariandynian mourner.

XERXES, ANTISTROPHE A: Send a wail of evil sound
lamenting and grievous; now
this god again has changed for me.

CHORUS: Mourning wail all-weeping shall I send,
in honor of the people’s suffering and sea-struck toils:
again a wailing filled with tears I’ll cry.

XERXES, STROPHE B (singing): Ionian Ares triumphed,
protector of their ships,
their partisan in war,
reaping gloomy flats of sea
and demon-haunted shores.

XERXES, ANTISTROPHE E (singing): Alas, too firm! I saw an unexpected misery.

CHORUS (singing): You mean the crowd of ships, routed and broken?

XERXES: I tore my garments at this calamity.

CHORUS: Ah, O woe!

XERXES: And even more than woe.

CHORUS: Double and triple the woe!

XERXES: Painful to us, but to our enemies joy.

CHORUS: And cut short was our power.

XERXES (singing): Cry out antiphonal to me.

CHORUS (singing): A woesome gift in response to woe.

XERXES: Raising a cry, join together our songs!

XERXES AND CHORUS: O woe, woe, woe upon woe.

CHORUS: Hearing this calamity,
Oh! I am pierced.
[…] Black with bruises again the blows are mixed,
Oh, with the groans.

XERXES, STROPHE G: Beat your breast too and cry Mysian laments.

CHORUS: Pain, pain.

XERXES: Tear the whitened hair of your beard.

CHORUS: With clenched hand, grimly mourning.

XERXES: Shriek a piercing cry.

CHORUS: And so I shall.

XERXES (singing): Go wailing to your homes.

CHORUS (singing): O woe, ah!

XERXES: Cries of woe throughout the city.

CHORUS: Yes, cries of woe indeed.

XERXES: Softly stepping, moan in grief.

CHORUS: O Persian land in hardness stepped.

XERXES: Oh, oh, by triple banks of oars…

CHORUS: Oh, oh…our ships were destroyed by theirs.
We shall escort you
with mournful lament.