Ghost Of Darius monologue — Four Plays of Aeschylus

Ye aged Persians, truest of the true, Coevals of the youth that once was mine, What troubleth now our city? harken, how It moans and beats the breast and rends the plain! And I, beholding how my consort stood Beside my tomb, was moved with awe, and took The gift of her libation graciously. But ye are weeping by my sepulchre, And, shrilling forth a sad, evoking cry, Summon me mournfully, _Arise, arise_. No light thing is it, to come back from death, For, in good sooth, the gods of nether gloom Are quick to seize but late and loth to free! Yet among them I dwell as one in power— And lo, I come! now speak, and speed your words, Lest I be blamed for tarrying overlong! What new disaster broods o’er Persia’s realm?