_Mess._ The captains of the vessels that were left, With a fair wind, but not in meet array, Took flight: and all the remnant of the army Fell in Bœotia—some for stress of thirst About the fountain clear, and some of us, Panting for breath, cross to the Phokians' land, The soil of Doris, and the Melian gulf, Where fair Spercheios waters all the plains With kindly flood, and then the Achæan fields 490 And city of the Thessali received us, Famished for lack of food;[43] and many died Of thirst and hunger, for both ills we bore; And then to the Magnetian land we came, And that of Macedonians, to the stream Of Axios, and Bolbe's reed-grown marsh, And Mount Pangaios and the Edonian land. And on that night God sent a mighty frost, Unwonted at that season, sealing up The whole course of the Strymon's pure, clear flood;[44] And they who erst had deemed the Gods as nought, 500 Then prayed with hot entreaties, worshipping Both earth and heaven. And after that the host Ceased from its instant calling on the Gods, It crosses o'er the glassy, frozen stream; And whosoe'er set forth before the rays Of the bright God were shed abroad, was saved; For soon the glorious sun with burning blaze Reached the mid-stream and warmed it with its flame, And they, confused, each on the other fell. Blest then was he whose soul most speedily Breathed out its life. And those who yet survived And gained deliverance, crossing with great toil 510 And many a pang through Thrakè, now are come, Escaped from perils, no great number they, To this our sacred land, and so it groans, This city of the Persians, missing much Our country's dear-loved youth. Too true my tale, And many things I from my speech omit, Ills which the Persians suffer at God's hand. _Chor._ O Power resistless, with what weight of woe On all the Persian race have thy feet leapt! _Atoss._ Ah! woe is me for that our army lost! O vision of the night that cam'st in dreams, 520 Too clearly did'st thou show me of these ills! But ye (_to Chorus_) did judge them far too carelessly; Yet since your counsel pointed to that course, I to the Gods will first my prayer address. And then with gifts to Earth and to the Dead, Bringing the chrism from my store, I'll come. For our past ills, I know, 'tis all too late, But for the future, I may hope, will dawn A better fortune! But 'tis now your part In these our present ills, in counsel faithful To commune with the Faithful; and my son, 530 Should he come here before me, comfort him, And home escort him, lest he add fresh ill To all these evils that we suffer now. [_Exit_