In wild, disordered flight. This further stroke
Of fortune's malice fell for thee to mourn.
Queen.
O wicked spirit! How did'st thou beguile
Our Persians' hearts! How bitter a revenge
Upon illustrious Athens was vouchsafed
To our dear son! Not all that Barbary lost
Beforetime on the field of Marathon
Sufficed! But, thinking to repay in kind
All that we suffered there, he hath drawn on
A deluge of immeasurable woe!
But tell me of the ships that 'scaped destruction,
Where didst thou leave these? Hast sure news of them?
Messenger.
The captains of the remnant hoisted sail
And ran before the wind, a rabble rout.
But the remainder of our army perished
In the Boeotian country, some of thirst
For lack of solace of refreshing springs.
We that were left, taking no time to breathe,
Crossed into Phocis and the Locrian land
And the Maliac gulf where the Spercheius flows
Watering a broad plain with his gracious stream.
Achaia and the Thessalian cities then
Opened to us their gates, but we were sore
Straitened for lack of meat. And there the most
Perished of thirst and hunger, for, God wot,
We must contend with both. Anon we came
To the Magnesian country and the coasts
Of Macedonia by the Axian frith
And Bolbe's reedy marshes and the range
