ATOSSA. Long while by various visions of the night Am I beset, since to Ionian lands With marshalled host my son went forth to war. Yet never saw I presage so distinct As in the night now passed.—Attend my tale!— A dream I had: two women nobly clad Came to my sight, one robed in Persian dress, The other vested in the Dorian garb, And both right stately and more tall by far Than women of to-day, and beautiful Beyond disparagement, and sisters sprung Both of one race, but, by their natal lot, One born in Hellas, one in Eastern land. These, as it seemed unto my watching eyes, Roused each the other to a mutual feud: The which my son perceiving set himself To check and soothe their struggle, and anon Yoked them and set the collars on their necks; And one, the Ionian, proud in this array, Paced in high quietude, and lent her mouth, Obedient, to the guidance of the rein. But restively the other strove, and broke The fittings of the car, and plunged away With mouth un-bitted: o’er the broken yoke My son was hurled, and lo! Darius stood In lamentation o’er his fallen child. Him Xerxes saw, and rent his robe in grief. Such was my vision of the night now past; But when, arising, I had dipped my hand In the fair lustral stream, I drew towards The altar, in the act of sacrifice, Having in mind to offer, as their due, The sacred meal-cake to the averting powers, Lords of the rite that banisheth ill dreams. When lo! I saw an eagle fleeing fast To Phoebus’ shrine—O friends, I stayed my steps, Too scared to speak! for, close upon his flight, A little falcon dashed in winged pursuit, Plucking with claws the eagle’s head, while he Could only crouch and cower and yield himself. Scared was I by that sight, and eke to you No less a terror must it be to hear! For mark this well—if Xerxes have prevailed, He shall come back the wonder of the world: If not, still none can call him to account— So he but live, he liveth Persia’s King! CHORUS. Queen, it stands not with my purpose to abet these fears of thine, Nor to speak with glazing comfort! nay, betake thee to the shrine! If thy dream foretold disaster, sue to gods to bar its way, And, for thyself, son, state, and friends, to bring fair fate to-day. Next, unto Earth and to the Dead be due libation poured, And by thee let Darius’ soul be wistfully implored— _I saw thee, lord, in last night’s dream, a phantom from the grave, I pray thee, lord, from earth beneath come forth to help and save! To me and to thy son send up the bliss of triumph now, And hold the gloomy fates of ill, dim in the dark below!_ Such be thy words! my inner heart good tidings doth foretell, And that fair fate will spring thereof, if wisdom guide us well.