Chorus.
Him, thine all-trusty eye,
The hosts of Persia who told o'er 960
By ten times fifty score,
Alphistos, Batanochos' heir,
Sesames' son, who owed his birth
To Megabates, him didst leave,
Parthos and great Œbares there
Didst leave to die?
Unhappy men! ah me!
Persians of highest worth!
For them dire ills on ills I hear from thee,
And sighs of anguish heave.
Xerxes. Antristrophe III.
Ah me! Alas! Woe! Woe!
A thrill of tender pain
For my brave comrades' sake,
Telling of ills most hateful, thou dost wake. 970
Cries out my very heart, yea, cries amain.
Chorus.
We for another mourn,
Of Mardia's myriad host the head,
Xanthos;—Anchares, Arian-born,
Diæxis and Arsaces, who
Afield our mounted forces led,
Kigdagatas and Lythimnas,
War-craving Tolmos—these, alas, 980
These mourn we too.
Sorrow astounds, ah me,
Sorrow astounds my mind
