_Dar._ *It slays with famine those vast multitudes.790 _Chor._ We then a host, select, compact, will raise. _Dar._ Nay, e'en the host which now in Hellas stays[59] Will ne'er return in peace and safety home. _Chor._ How say'st thou? Does not all the barbarous host Cross from Europa o'er the straits of Hellè? _Dar._ But few of many; if 'tis meet for one Who looks upon the things already done To trust the oracles of Gods; for they, Not these or those, but all, are brought to pass: If this be so, then, resting on vain hopes,[60] 800 He leaves a chosen portion of his host: And they abide where, watering all the plain, Asôpos pours his fertilising stream Dear to Bœotian land; and there of ills The topmost crown awaits them, penalty Of wanton outrage and of godless thoughts; For they to Hellas coming, held not back In awe from plundering sculptured forms of Gods[61] And burning down their temples; and laid low Are altars, and the shrines of Gods o'erthrown, E'en from their base. They therefore having wrought Deeds evil, now are suffering, and will suffer Evil not less, and not as yet is seen 810 *E'en the bare groundwork of the ills, but still They grow up to completeness. Such a stream Of blood and slaughter soon shall flow from them By Dorian spear upon Platæan ground,[62] And heaps of corpses shall to children's children, Though speechless, witness to the eyes of men That mortal man should not wax overproud; For wanton pride from blossom grows to fruit, The full corn in the ear, of utter woe, And reaps a tear-fraught harvest. Seeing then, Such recompense of these things, cherish well The memory of Athens and of Hellas; 820 Let no man in his scorn of present fortune, And thirst for other, mar his good estate; Zeus is the avenger of o'er-lofty thoughts, A terrible controller. Therefore now, Since voice of God bids him be wise of heart, Admonish him with counsel true and good To cease his daring sacrilegious pride; And thou, O Xerxes' mother, old and dear, Go to thy home, and taking what apparel Is fitting, go to meet thy son; for all 830 The costly robes around his limbs are torn To rags and shreds in grief's wild agony. But do thou gently soothe his soul with words; For he to thee alone will deign to hearken; But I must leave the earth for darkness deep: And ye, old men, farewell, although in woe, And give your soul its daily bread of joy; For to the dead no profit bringeth wealth. [_Exit, disappearing in the earth._ _Chor._ I shudder as I hear the many woes Both past and present that on Persians fall. 840