Darius, in the old time, by aid of some
Immortal,
Raised up the stately fabric,
our wealth of long-ago:
But I tremble lest it totter down, and
ruin porch and portal,
And the whirling dust of downfall
rise above its overthrow!
Therefore a dread unspeakable within me
never slumbers, Saying,
Honour not the gauds of
wealth if men have ceased to grow,
Nor deem that men, apart from wealth,
can find
their strength in numbers—
We shudder for our light and
king, though we have gold enow!
No light there is, in any house, save
presence of the master—
So runs the saw, ye aged men!
and truth it says indeed—
On you I call, the wise and true, to ward
us from disaster,
For all my hope is fixed on
you, to prop us in our need!
CHORUS
Queen-Mother of the Persian land, to thy
commandment bowing,
Whate’er thou wilt,
in word or deed, we follow to fulfil—
Not twice we need thine high behest, our
faith and duty knowing,
In council and in act alike,
thy loyal servants still!
Long while by various visions of the night
Am I beset, since to Ionian lands
With marshalled host my son went forth
to war.
Yet never saw I presage so distinct
As in the night now passed.—Attend
my tale!—
A dream I had: two women nobly clad
Came to my sight, one robed in Persian
dress,
The other vested in the Dorian garb,
And both right stately and more tall by
far
Than women of to-day, and beautiful
Beyond disparagement, and sisters sprung
Both of one race, but, by their natal
lot,
One born in Hellas, one in Eastern land.
These, as it seemed unto my watching eyes,
Roused each the other to a mutual feud:
The which my son perceiving set himself
To check and soothe their struggle, and
anon
Yoked them and set the collars on their
necks;
And one, the Ionian, proud in this array,
Paced in high quietude, and lent her mouth,
Obedient, to the guidance of the rein.
But restively the other strove, and broke
The fittings of the car, and plunged away
With mouth un-bitted: o’er
the broken yoke
My son was hurled, and lo! Darius
stood
In lamentation o’er his fallen child.
Him Xerxes saw, and rent his robe in grief.
Such was my vision of the night now past;
But when, arising, I had dipped my hand
In the fair lustral stream, I drew towards
The altar, in the act of sacrifice,
Having in mind to offer, as their due,
The sacred meal-cake to the averting powers,
Lords of the rite that banisheth ill dreams.
When lo! I saw an eagle fleeing fast
To Phoebus’ shrine—O
friends, I stayed my steps,
Too scared to speak! for, close upon his
