ATOSSA. Loyal thou that first hast read this dream, this vision of the night, With loyalty to me, the queen—be then thy presage right! And therefore, as thy bidding is, what time I pass within To dedicate these offerings, new prayers I will begin, Alike to gods and the great dead who loved our lineage well. Yet one more word—say, in what realm do the Athenians dwell? CHORUS. Far hence, even where, in evening land, goes down our Lord the Sun. ATOSSA. Say, had my son so keen desire, that region to o’errun? CHORUS. Yea—if she fell, the rest of Greece were subject to our sway! ATOSSA. Hath she so great predominance, such legions in array? CHORUS. Ay—such a host as smote us sore upon an earlier day. ATOSSA. And what hath she, besides her men? enow of wealth in store? CHORUS. A mine of treasure in the earth, a fount of silver ore! ATOSSA. Is it in skill of bow and shaft that Athens’ men excel? CHORUS. Nay, they bear bucklers in the fight, and thrust the spear-point well. ATOSSA. And who is shepherd of their host and holds them in command? CHORUS. To no man do they bow as slaves, nor own a master’s hand. ATOSSA. How should they bide our brunt of war, the East upon the West? CHORUS. That could Darius’ valiant horde in days of yore attest! ATOSSA. A boding word, to us who bore the men now far away! CHORUS. Nay—as I deem, the very truth will dawn on us to-day. A Persian by his garb and speed, a courier draws anear— He bringeth news, of good or ill, for Persia’s land to hear. Enter a MESSENGER. MESSENGER. O walls and towers of all the Asian realm, O Persian land, O treasure-house of gold! How, by one stroke, down to destruction, down, Hath sunk our pride, and all the flower of war That once was Persia’s, lieth in the dust! Woe on the man who first announceth woe— Yet must I all the tale of death unroll! Hark to me, Persians! Persia’s host lies low. CHORUS. O ruin manifold, and woe, and fear! Let the wild tears run down, for the great doom is here! MESSENGER. This blow hath fallen, to the utterance, And I, past hope, behold my safe return! CHORUS. Too long, alack, too long this life of mine, That in mine age I see this sudden woe condign! MESSENGER. As one who saw, by no loose rumour led, Lords, I would tell what doom was dealt to us. CHORUS. Alack, how vainly have they striven! Our myriad hordes with shaft and bow Went from the Eastland, to lay low Hellas, beloved of Heaven! MESSENGER. Piled with men dead, yea, miserably slain, Is every beach, each reef of Salamis! CHORUS. Thou sayest sooth—ah well-a-day! Battered amid the waves, and torn, On surges hither, thither, borne, Dead bodies, bloodstained and forlorn, In their long cloaks they toss and stray! MESSENGER. Their bows availed not! all have perished, all, By charging galleys crushed and whelmed in death.