Sad and majestic music now swells up the crowded theatre, and echoes on the steep rocks of the Acropolis. The Persian councillors begin that chorus of lamentation which was portended by their opening chorus of anxiety.
Strophe.
"Awful sovereign of the skies,
When now o'er Persia's numerous host
Thou bad'st the storm with ruin rise,
All her proud vaunts of glory lost,
Ecbatana's imperial head
By thee was wrapped in sorrow's dark'ning shade;
Through Susa's palaces with wide lament,
By their soft hands their veils all rent,
The copious tear the virgins pour,
That trickles their bare bosoms o'er.
From her sweet couch upstarts the widowed bride,
Her lord's loved image rushing on her soul,
Throws the rich ornaments of youth aside,
And gives her griefs to flow without control;
Her griefs not causeless; for the mighty slain
Our melting tears demand, and sorrow-softened strain."
Antistrophe.
"Now her wailings wide despair
Pours these exhausted regions o'er;
Xerxes, ill-fated, led the war;
Xerxes, ill-fated, leads no more:
Xerxes sent forth the unwise command,
The crowded ships unpeopled all the land;
That land o'er which Darius held his reign,
Courting the arts of peace, in vain,
O'er all his grateful realms adored,
The stately Susa's gentle lord.
