Lay then to heart what now I say, And think not in destruction's day On fortune's spite the blame to throw, Or say that Zeus has wrought your woe. When thou hast rushed into the net Of doom for fate by folly set, Thou wilt thy just reward have met. PROMETHEUS. Now the dread hour has come: earth reels, Through heaven the crashing thunder peals, Forked lightnings blaze about the sky, The sand in clouds is whirled on high; From east, from west, from south, from north, The winds in mad career rush forth, And elemental battle join; The welkin mingles with the brine; Upon me comes in flood and fire The blast of the Almighty's ire. Look, holy mother, on this sight; Look on it, Aether, source of light, See justice overborne by might. THE PERSIANS Xerxes has led the hosts of Asia on the fatal expedition against Hellas. His mother, Atossa, remaining at Susa, has a fatal dream, which she recounts to the chorus of aged Persians. * * * * * _ATOSSA'S DREAM_. LINES 178-216. ATOSSA. By dreams I have been haunted every night, Since with his armament my son went forth To smite the land of the Ionians. Yet never dream has come so startling clear As last night's vision; let me tell it thee:-- Methought two women, beauteously attired, The robes of one in Persian fashion wrought. Those of her mate in Dorian, met my view. In stature they surpassed all womankind; Peerless their forms; sisters they were in blood. The heritage and dwelling-place of one Was Hellas, of the other Asia. Between these two methought a strife arose, Which when my son perceived, he checked their wrath And calmed them, and beneath his chariot's yoke He led them both, and o'er their necks the rein He stretched. Then of her trappings one seemed proud And to the bit her mouth obedient lent. But her companion, like a restive steed, The harness broke, and, heeding not the bit, O'erthrew the car and snapped the yoke in twain. My son falls, and his sire Darius comes To aid and comfort him, whom when he sees, Xerxes his garments rends in sign of woe. Such was my dream. When morning came I rose, And first the night's pollution purged away With purifying waters, then I sought The altar, with my sacrificial train To lay the gift, which turns the wrath divine, Of honeyed meal before the powers who save. Behold an eagle flying in affright To Phoebus' shrine; fear struck me mute, my friends. Then lo! a falcon on the eagle swoops, Assails him with his wings and tears his head With angry talons, while the mightier bird Cowers unresisting. Awful 'twas to see, Awful it is for you to hear. My son, If well he fares, will boundless glory win, If ill--yet he no reckoning owes the state; Let him but live and he is master here. * * * * * _SALAMIS_. The battle narrated by a Persian coming from the scene. LINES 251-473. MESSENGER.