Chorus:
O thou afflicted monarch, once the lord
Of marshall'd armies, of the lustre beam'd
From glory's ray o'er Persia, of her sons
The pride, the grace, whom ruin now hath sunk
In blood! The unpeopled land laments her youth
By Xerxes led to slaughter, till the realms
Of death are gorged with Persians; for the flower
Of all the realm, thousands, whose dreadful bows
With arrowy shower annoy'd the foe, are fall'n.
Xerxes:
Your fall, heroic youths, distracts my soul.
Chorus:
And Asia sinking on her knee, O king,
Oppress'd, with griefs oppress'd, bends to the earth.
Xerxes:
And I, O wretched fortune, I was born
To crush, to desolate my ruin'd country!
Chorus:
I have no voice, no swelling harmony,
No descant, save these notes of wo,
Harsh, and responsive to the sullen sigh,
Rude strains, that unmelodious flow,
To welcome thy return.
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