down my son Fell from the seat, and instant at his side His father stands, Darius, at his fall Impress'd with pity: him when Xerxes saw, Glowing with grief and shame he rends his robes. This was the dreadful vision of the night. When I arose, in the sweet-flowing stream I bathed my hands, and on the incensed altars Presenting my oblations to the gods To avert these ills, an eagle I behold Fly to the altar of the sun; aghast I stood, my friends, and speechless; when a hawk With eager speed runs thither, furious cuffs The eagle with his wings, and with his talons Unplumes his head; meantime the imperial bird Cowers to the blows defenceless. Dreadful this To me that saw it, and to you that hear. My son, let conquest crown his arms, would shine With dazzling glory; but should Fortune frown, The state indeed presumes not to arraign His sovereignty; [...] meanwhile Indulge me, friends, who wish to be inform'd Where, in what clime, the towers of Athens rise.

πίπτει δ΄ ἐμὸς παῖς͵ καὶ πατὴρ παρίσταται Δαρεῖος οἰκτίρων σφε· τὸν δ΄ ὅπως ὁρᾷ Ξέρξης͵ πέπλους ῥήγνυσιν ἀμφὶ σώματι. καὶ ταῦτα μὲν δὴ νυκτὸς εἰσιδεῖν λέγω. ἐπεὶ δ΄ ἀνέστην καὶ χεροῖν καλλιρρόου ἔψαυσα πηγῆς͵ σὺν θυηπόλῳ χερὶ βωμὸν προσέστην͵ ἀποτρόποισι δαίμοσιν θέλουσα θῦσαι πέλανον͵ ὧν τέλη τάδε. ὁρῶ δὲ φεύγοντ΄ αἰετὸν πρὸς ἐσχάραν Φοίβου· φόβῳ δ΄ ἄφθογγος ἐστάθην͵ φίλοι· μεθύστερον δὲ κίρκον εἰσορῶ δρόμῳ πτεροῖς ἐφορμαίνοντα καὶ χηλαῖς κάρα τίλλονθ΄· ὁ δ΄ οὐδὲν ἄλλο γ΄ ἢ πτήξας δέμας παρεῖχε. ταῦτ΄ ἔμοιγε δείματ΄ ἔστ΄ ἰδεῖν͵ ὑμῖν δ΄ ἀκούειν. εὖ γὰρ ἴστε͵ παῖς ἐμὸς πράξας μὲν εὖ θαυμαστὸς ἂν γένοιτ΄ ἀνήρ͵ κακῶς δὲ πράξαςοὐχ ὑπεύθυνος πόλει͵ σωθεὶς δ΄ ὁμοίως τῆσδε κοιρανεῖ χθονός. […] κεῖνα δ΄ ἐκμαθεῖν θέλω͵ ὦ φίλοι͵ ποῦ τὰς Ἀθήνας φασὶν ἱδρῦσθαι χθονός;