Queen.
Good friends, was ever woman so accursed
With evil fortune? Tell me how they died.
Messenger.
There is an island opposite the shores
Of Salamis, a little, wretched isle,
With never a safe cove where ships may ride,
But Pan, who loves the choric dance, haunts there,
Footing it lightly on the wave-washed strand.
Thither the king despatched them, with intent
That when the enemy, forced to abandon ship,
Sought safety on that isle, they might with ease
Put all the host of Hellas to the sword,
And rescue their own comrades from the salt
Sea-friths. But he judged ill the event. For when
The Gods the glory of the sea-fight gave
Unto the Hellenes, armed to the teeth they sprang
Ashore and compassed the whole island round,
So that they knew not where to turn. And many
They battered to death with stones: some they shot dead
With arrows: finally, to make an end,
Rushed in and finished off their butcher's work
Hacking their helpless victims limb from limb,
Until not one of them was left alive.
And Xerxes, when he saw that depth beyond
All depths of sorrow, wailed aloud. For he sat
Upon a throne conspicuous to the host,
On a high hill beside the open sea.
There with rent robes and a heart-piercing cry
Straightway he gave the signal to his troops
Drawn up upon the shore and let them go
