Chorus monologue — Four Plays of Aeschylus

Zeus, lord and king! to death and nought Our countless host by thee is brought. Deep in the gloom of death, to-day, Lie Susa and Ecbatana: How many a maid in sorrow stands And rends her tire with tender hands! How tears run down, in common pain And woeful mourning for the slain! O delicate in dole and grief, Ye Persian women! past relief Is now your sorrow! to the war Your loved ones went and come no more! Gone from you is your joy and pride— Severed the bridegroom from the bride— The wedded couch luxurious Is widowed now, and all the house Pines ever with insatiate sighs, And we stand here and bid arise, For those who forth in ardour went And come not back, the loud lament!