CHORAL HYMN. STROPHE I. Proudly the kingly host, City-destroying, crossed Hence to the neighbouring Contrary coast; Paving the sea with planks, Marched he his serried ranks: Hellè's swift-rushing stream,[f13] Binding with cord and chain, Forging a yoke For the neck of the main. ANTISTROPHE I. King of a countless host, Asia's warlike boast, Shepherd of many sheep,[n5] Conquering crossed. Trusting to men of might, Footman and harnessed knight; Son of a golden race, Strong both by land and sea, Equal to gods, Though a mortal was he. STROPHE II. His eyes like the dragon's dire Flashing with dark blue fire,[f14] See him appear! Through the long lines of war Driving the Syrian car,[f15] Ares in arrows strong Leading against the strong Men of the spear! ANTISTROPHE II. When wave upon wave of men Breaks through each Grecian glen, Whelming the land, {304} War like wild Ocean's tide, What arm shall turn aside? Persia's stout-hearted race, Hand to hand, face to face, Who shall withstand? MESODE. But, when the gods deceive,[n6] Wiles which immortals weave Who shall beware? Who, when their nets surround, Breaks with a nimble bound Out of the snare? First they approach with smiles, Wreathing their hidden wiles: Then with surprise, Seize they their prey; and lo! Writhing in toils of woe Tangled he lies. STROPHE III. Fate hath decreed it so, Peace, peace, is not for thee! Persia, hear and know, War is the lot for thee! Spake the supernal powers, Charging of steeds shall be, Taking of towns and towers, Persia, to thee! ANTISTROPHE III. Where the sea, hoar with wrath, Roars to the roaring blast, Daring a doubtful path, Persian hosts have passed; Where wave on wave cresting on Bristles with angry breath, Cable and plank alone Part them from death! STROPHE IV. Therefore is my soul within me Murky-mantled, pricked with fear: Alas! the Persian army! Never {305} May such cry invade my ear! Susa, emptied of her children, Desolate and drear! ANTISTROPHE IV. Never may the Cissian fortress With such echo split the air; Spare mine ears the shrieks of women, And mine eyes the sad sight spare, When fair hands the costly linen From gentle bosoms tear! STROPHE V. For all our horse with frequent tramp, And our footmen from the camp, Even as bees on busy wing, Swarmed out with the king: And they paved their briny way, Where beats the many-mingling spray The bridge that joins the Thracian strand To Asian land.[f16]