CHORUS. We are the Persian watchmen old, The guardians true of the palace of gold, Left to defend the Asian land, When the army marched to Hellas' strand; Elders chosen by Xerxes the king, The son of Darius, to hold the reins, Till he the conquering host shall bring Back to Susa's sunny plains. But the spirit within me is troubled and tossed, When I think of the King and the Persian host; And my soul, dark-stirred with the prophet's mood, Bodes nothing good. For the strength of the Asian land went forth, And my heart cries out for the young king's worth That marshalled them on to the war:[f8] Nor herald, nor horseman, nor wandering fame, Since then to the towers of the Persian came. From Susa and from Ecbatana far, And from the Cissian fortress old,[f9] Strong in the ordered ranks of war Forth they went, the warriors bold; Horseman and footman and seaman went, A vast and various armament. Amistres, Artaphrenes, led the van, Megabátes, Astaspes, obeyed the ban; Persian leaders, kings from afar Followed the great King's call to the war. Forth they went with arrow and bow,[n1] And in clattering turms with chivalrous show; To the eye of the dastard a terrible sight, And with constancy mailed for the fight. Artembáres in steeds delighting, Imaeus the foe with the sure arrow smiting, Pharandáces, Masistres, Sosthánes in war {302} Who lashes the steed, and drives the car. The mighty and many-nurturing Nile Sent forth many a swarthy file; Susiscánes and Egypt's son Pegastágon lead them on. Arsámes the mighty, whose word commands The strength of the sacred Memphian bands, And Ariomardus brave, whose sway The sons of Ogygian[f10] Thebes obey. And the countless host with sturdy oar That plough the lagoons of the slimy shore,[f11] And the Lydians march in luxurious pride, And the tribes of the continent far and wide Whom Arcteus and valiant Metragathes lead, Kings that serve the great King's need; And the men who fight from the sharp-scythed car, Whom golden Sardes[n2] sends to the war; Some with two yoke, some with three, A terrible sight to see. And the sons of sacred Tmolus appear[f12] On free-necked Hellas to lay the yoke, Mardon and Tharybis, stiff to the spear As the anvil is stiff to the hammer's stroke. And the men of Mysia skilful to throw The well-poised dart,[n3] and they who ride On wide Ocean's swelling tide, A mingled people with motley show From golden Babylon, men who know To point the arrow and bend the bow. The Asian tribes that wear the sword[n4] From far and near The summons hear, And follow the hest of their mighty Lord. All the flower of the Persian youth hath gone, And the land that nursed them is left alone To pine with love's delay; And wives and mothers from day to day, Fearing what birth The time shall bring forth, Fret the long-drawn hours away. {303}