Ere now they have passed o’er the sea, the manifold host of the king— They have gone forth to sack and to burn; ashore on the Westland they spring! With cordage and rope they have bridged the sea-way of Helle, to pass O’er the strait that is named by thy name, O daughter of Athamas! They have anchored their ships in the current, they have bridled the neck of the sea— The Shepherd and Lord of the East hath bidden a roadway to be! From the land to the land they pass over, a herd at the high king’s best; Some by the way of the waves, and some o’er the planking have pressed. For the king is a lord and a god: he was born of the golden seed That erst upon Danae fell—his captains are strong at the need! And dark is the glare of his eyes, as eyes of a serpent blood-fed, And with manifold troops in his train and with manifold ships hath he sped— Yea, sped with his Syrian cars: he leads on the lords of the bow To meet with the men of the West, the spear-armed force of the foe! Can any make head and resist him, when he comes with the roll of a wave? No barrier nor phalanx of might, no chief, be he ever so brave! For stern is the onset of Persia, and gallant her children in fight. But the guile of the god is deceitful, and who shall elude him by flight? And who is the lord of the leap, that can spring and alight and evade? For Até deludes and allures, till round him the meshes are laid, And no man his doom can escape! it was writ in the rule of high Heaven, That in tramp of the steeds and in crash of the charge the war-cry of Persia be given: They have learned to behold the forbidden, the sacred enclosure of sea, Where the waters are wide and in stress of the wind the billows roll hoary to lee! And their trust is in cable and cordage, too weak in the power of the blast, And frail are the links of the bridge whereby unto Hellas they passed. Therefore my gloom-wrapped heart is rent with sorrow For what may hap to-morrow! Alack, for all the Persian armament— Alack, lest there be sent Dread news of desolation, Susa’s land Bereft, forlorn, unmanned— Lest the grey Kissian fortress echo back The wail, _Alack, Alack!_ The sound of women’s shriek, who wail and mourn, With fine-spun raiment torn! The charioteers went forth nor come again, And all the marching men Even as a swarm of bees have flown afar, Drawn by the king to war— Crossing the sea-bridge, linked from side to side, That doth the waves divide: And the soft bridal couch of bygone years Is now bedewed with tears, Each princess, clad in garments delicate, Wails for her widowed fate— _Alas my gallant bridegroom, lost and gone, And I am left alone!_