ATOSSA. Good friends, whoso hath knowledge of mishap, Knows this, that men, when swelling ills surge o'er them, Brood o'er the harm till all things catch the hue Of apprehension; but, when Fortune's stream Runs smooth, the same, with confidence elate, Hope the boon god will blow fair breezes ever. Thus to my soul all things are full of fear, The adverse gods from all sides strike my eye, And in my ear, with ominous-ringing peal, Fate prophesies. Such terror scares my wits. No royal car to-day, no queenly pomp Is mine; the broidered stole would ill become My present mission, bringing as thou see'st, These simple offerings to appease the Shades; From the chaste cow, this white and healthful milk, This clearest juice, by the flower-working bee Distilled, this pure wave from the virgin spring, This draught of joyaunce from the unmingled grape, Of a wild mother born; this fragrant fruit Of the pale green olive, ever leafy-fair,[n20] And these wreathed flowers, of all-producing Earth Fair children. But, my dear lov'd friends, I pray you, With pious supplication, now invoke, The god Darius[n21] while on the earth I pour These pure libations to the honour'd dead. CHORUS. O queen, much-revered of the Persian nation, To the chambers below pour thou the libation, While we shall uplift the holy hymn, That the gods who reign in the regions dim, May graciously hear when we pray. O holy powers that darkly sway In the subterranean night, {319} O Earth, and Hermes, and thou who art king Of the Shades that float on bodiless wing, Send, O send him back to the light! For, if remedy be to our burden of woes, He surely knows. CHORAL HYMN. STROPHE I. And dost thou hear me, blessed Shade, imploring Thy aid divine, and freely pouring Of plaintive grief The various flow? I will cry out, till Persia's godlike chief Shall hear below. ANTISTROPHE I. O Earth, and ye that rule the shadowy homes, Send from your sunless domes The mighty god Of Susan birth, Than whom no greater yet was pressed by the sod Of Persian earth. STROPHE II. O dear-loved man! dear tomb! and dearer dust That in thee lies! O Aïdóneus, thy charge release,[n22] O stern Aïdóneus, and, in peace, Let king Darius rise! ANTISTROPHE II. He was a king no myriads vast he lost In wars inglorious. Persia, a counsellor was he, A counsellor of god to thee, He with his hosts victorious. STROPHE III. Come, dread lord![n23] Appear! Appear! O'er the sepulchre's topmost tier; The disc of thy regal tiara showing,[n24] With thy sandals saffron-glowing, Come, good father Darius, come! {320} ANTISTROPHE III. Fresh and unstaunched woes to hear, Lord of a mighty lord appear! For the clouds of Stygian night o'ercome us, And all our youth are perished from us, Come, good father Darius, come!