DARIUS. Few out of many; if the prophecies, That are in part fulfilled by what we see, (And the gods lie not) speak the future true. It is an empty hope that bids him leave A select force behind him: they remain, Where with fat streams Asopus feeds the plain, Themselves to feed it fatter: in Bœotia Much woe awaits them justly, the fair price Of their own godless pride, that did not fear When first they entered Greece, to rob the altars Of the eternal gods, to fire their temples, Uproot the old foundations of their shrines, And from their basements in commingled wreck Dash down the images. Much harm they worked, And much shall suffer. From no shallow bed Their woes shall flow, but like a spring gush forth, Still fresh enforced. With such gore-streaming death The Dorian spear shall daub Plataea's soil; And the piled dead to generations three Speak this mute wisdom to the thoughtful eye-- PROUD THOUGHTS WERE NEVER MADE FOR MORTAL MAN; A haughty spirit[f32] blossoming bears a crop Of woe, and reaps a harvest of despair. Look on these things, pride's just avengement; think On Athens and on Hellas; fear to slight The present bounty of the gods, lest they Rob you of much, while greed still gapes for more. Jove is chastiser of high-vaunting thoughts, And heavily falls his judgment on the proud; Therefore, my foolish son, when he shall come, With friendly warnings teach, that he may cease From rash imaginings that offend the gods. And thou, his aged mother, go within, {325} And bring a seemly robe with thee, to meet Thy son withal: for thou shalt see him soon, His broidered vestments torn in many a shred, Griefs blazonry. Thou only with kind words Canst soothe his sorrow, deaf to all beside. But now I go hence to the gloom below. Ye aged friends, farewell. Though ills surround, Yet give your souls to joyaunce, while ye may, For riches profit nothing to the dead. [_The Shade of_ DARIUS _descends._ CHORUS. O many woes, both present and to come, On the barbaric race I weep to hear! ATOSSA. O god, how many sorrows hast thou sent To weigh me down: but this doth gnaw my heart, That I should live to see my kingly son Come in griefs tattered weeds to Susa's halls; But I will go and bring a seemly robe To meet him, if I may. I will not leave My dear-loved son unsolaced in his woe. [_Exit into the palace._ CHORAL HYMN. STROPHE I. O glorious and great was the Persian land! To the cities of Susa that owned his command How blest was the day! Defeat came not nigh us when good old Darius With invincible, godlike, victorious hand Held fortunate sway. ANTISTROPHE I. Sure-fenced were his cities with law, and no fear The Persian knew when his armies were near; They came from the fight, Not weary and worn, and of glory shorn, But trophied with spoils, and with costliest gear All proudly bedight.