No more need men keep in silence Tongues fast bound: for now the people May with freedom speak at pleasure; For the yoke of power is broken; And blood-stained in all its meadows Holds the sea-washed isle of Aias What was once the host of Persia. _Re-enter_ ATOSSA _Atoss._ Whoe'er, my friends, is vexed in troublous times, 600 Knows that when once a tide of woe sets in, A man is wont to fear in everything; But when Fate flows on smoothly, then to trust That the same Fate will ever send fair gales. So now all these disasters from the Gods Seem in mine eyes filled full of fear and dread, And in mine ears rings cry unpæanlike, So great a dread of all has seized my soul: And therefore now, without or chariot's state Or wonted pomp, have I thus issued forth 610 From out my palace, to my son's sire bringing Libations loving, gifts propitiatory, Meet for the dead; milk pure and white from cow Unblemished, and bright honey that distils From the flower-working bee, and water drawn From virgin fountain, and the draught unmarred From mother wild, bright child of ancient vine; And here too of the tree that evermore Keeps its fresh life in foliage, the pale olive, Is the sweet-smelling fruit, and twinèd wreaths Of flowers, the children of all-bearing earth.[47] 620 But ye, my friends, o'er these libations poured In honour of the dead, chant forth your hymns, And call upon Dareios as a God: While I will send unto the Gods below These votive offerings which the earth shall drink. [_Goes to the tomb of_ DAREIOS _in the centre of the stage_ _Chor._ O royal lady, honoured of the Persians, Do thou libations pour To the dark chambers of the dead below; And we with hymns will pray The Powers that act as escorts of the dead To give us kindly help beneath the earth. But oh, ye holy Ones in darkness dwelling, 630 Hermes and Earth, and thou, the Lord of Hell, Send from beneath a soul Up to the light of earth; For should he know a cure for these our ills, He, he alone of men, their end may tell. STROPHE I Doth he, the blest one hear, The king, like Gods in power, Hear me, as I send forth My cries in barbarous speech, Yet very clear to him,— Sad, varied, broken cries So as to tell aloud Our troubles terrible? 640 Ah, doth he hear below? ANTISTROPHE I