No More Learning

Rise, plant thy foot, with saffron sandal shod
Father to us, and god!
Rise with thy diadem, O sire benign,
Upon thy brow!
List to the strange new sorrows of thy line,
Sire of a woeful son!

A mist of fate and hell is round us now,
And all the city's flower to death is done!
Alas, we wept thee once, and weep again!
O Lord of lords, by recklessness twofold
The land is wasted of its men,
And down to death are rolled
Wreckage of sail and oar,
Ships that are ships no more,
And bodies of the slain!
[The GHOST OF DARIUS _rises_.

GHOST OF DARIUS

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?
CHORUS

With awe on thee I gaze,
And, standing face to face,
I tremble as I did in olden days!

GHOST OF DARIUS

Nay, but as I rose to earth again, obedient to your call,
Prithee, tarry not in parley! be one word enough for all--
Speak and gaze on me unshrinking, neither let my face appal!

CHORUS


I tremble to reveal,
Yet tremble to conceal
Things hard for friends to feel!


GHOST OF DARIUS

Nay, but if the old-time terror on your spirit keeps its hold,
Speak thou, O royal lady who didst couch with me of old!
Stay thy weeping and lamenting and to me reveal the truth--
Speak! for man is born to sorrow; yea, the proverb sayeth sooth!
'Tis the doom of mortal beings, if they live to see old age,
To suffer bale, by land and sea, through war and tempest's rage.

ATOSSA

O thou whose blissful fate on earth all mortal weal excelled--
Who, while the sunlight touched thine eyes, the lord of all wert
held!
A god to Persian men thou wert, in bliss and pride and fame--
I hold thee blest too in thy death, or e'er the ruin came!
Alas, Darius! one brief word must tell thee all the tale--
The Persian power is in the dust, gone down in blood and bale!

GHOST OF DARIUS

Speak--by what chance? did man rebel, or pestilence descend?

ATOSSA

Neither! by Athens' fatal shores our army met its end.