Messenger.
An isle there is that fronteth Salamis,
Small, with bad anchorage, whose sea-washed beach 450
Dance-loving Pan doth haunt; thither the King
Sendeth these chiefs, that, when the worsted foe
Should in the isle seek safety, Persia's sons
Might slay the host of Hellas, easy prey,
And from the briny channels save their friends,
Ill-guessing the to-come: for when the god
The Hellenès crowned with glory of the fight,
On that same day, with shields of well-wrought brass
Fencing their bodies, from their ships they leapt,
And the whole isle encompassed; so our men
Knew not which way to turn; oft time by stones 460
Pelted from foeman's hand, while arrows keen,
Thick raining from the bow-string, smote them down;
Rushing at last with simultaneous shout,
The Hellenès hacked and carved the victims' limbs,
Till they, poor wretches, all of life were reaved.
But Xerxes groaned, seeing the depth of ills;
For on a lofty height, hard by the sea,
His seat he held, o'erlooking all the host.
His garments rending, a shrill cry he raised, 470
To his land troops forthwith dispatch'd command,
And sped in flight disordered. Thine it is
To wail this sorrow added to the first.
Atossa.
O hateful Demon, how thou hast belied
The hopes of Persians! Bitter punishment
