DARIUS. Wood and iron! Could these fetter billowy Bosphorus in his flow? ATOSSA. So it was. Some god had lent him wit to plan his own perdition. DARIUS. Alas! a mighty god full surely robbed him of his sober mind. {322} ATOSSA. And the fruit of his great folly we behold in matchless woes. DARIUS. I have heard your wailings: tell me more exact the dismal chance. ATOSSA. First the whole sea host being ruined brought like ruin on the foot. DARIUS. By the hostile spear of Hellas they have perished one and all? ATOSSA. Ay. The citadel of Susa, emptied of her children, moans. DARIUS. Alas! the faithful army! ATOSSA. All the flower of Bactria's youth are slain. DARIUS. Woe, my hapless son! What myriads of our faithful friends he ruined! ATOSSA. Xerxes, stripped of all his glory, with a straggling few they say-- DARIUS. What of him? Speak! Speak! I pray thee; is there safety, is there hope? ATOSSA. Fainly comes, with life scarce rescued, to the bridge that links the lands. DARIUS. And has crossed to Asia? ATOSSA. Even so, most surely, ran the news. DARIUS. Ah! on wings how swift the issue of the ancient doom hath sped! Thee, my son, great Jove hath smitten. Long-drawn years I hoped would roll, Ere fulfilment of the dread prophetic burden should be known. But when man to run is eager, swift is the god to add a spur.[n27] Opened flows a fount of sorrow to ourselves and to our friends. This my son knew not: he acted with green youth's presumptuous daring, Weening Helle's sacred current, Bosphorus' flood divine to bind Like a slave with hammered fetters, damming its unconquered tide, Forcing passage against Nature for a host unwisely great. Being mortal with immortals, with Poseidon's power he dared To contend fool-hardy. Did not strong distemper hold the soul {323} Of my hapless son? The riches stored by me with mickle care Now, I fear, will be the booty of the swiftest-seizing hand. ATOSSA. Converse with the sons of folly taught thy eager son to err,[n28] Thou wert great they said, and mighty, winning riches with thy spear, He, unmanly, chamber-fighting, adding nothing to thy store. With these taunts the ears assailing of thy warlike son, bad men Planned at length the march to Hellas--planned his ruin and our woe.