Messenger monologue — Four Plays of Aeschylus

An islet is there, fronting Salamis— Strait, and with evil anchorage: thereon Pan treads the measure of the dance he loves Along the sea-beach. Thither the king sent His noblest, that, whene’er the Grecian foe Should ’scape, with shattered ships, unto the isle, We might make easy prey of fugitives And slay them there, and from the washing tides Rescue our friends. It fell out otherwise Than he divined, for when, by aid of Heaven, The Hellenes held the victory on the sea, Their sailors then and there begirt themselves With brazen mail and bounded from their ships, And then enringed the islet, point by point, So that our Persians in bewilderment Knew not which way to turn. On every side, Battered with stones, they fell, while arrows flew From many a string, and smote them to the death. Then, at the last, with simultaneous rush The foe came bursting on us, hacked and hewed To fragments all that miserable band, Till not a soul of them was left alive. Then Xerxes saw disaster’s depth, and shrieked, From where he sat on high, surveying all— A lofty eminence, beside the brine, Whence all his armament lay clear in view. His robe he rent, with loud and bitter wail, And to his land-force swiftly gave command And fled, with shame beside him! Now, lament That second woe, upon the first imposed!