Son of Telamon, thou whose isle,

Sea-girt Salamis, doth smile

O’er the surge, thy joys I share

When thy fortunes promise fair;

But if stroke of Zeus assail,

Or the slanderous tongues prevail

Of the Danaï, to blast

Thy repute, I cower aghast,

Like a dove with quivering eye.

For of yesternight there fly

Bitter plaints and loud-voiced blame

Crowding on us to our shame⁠—

How thou speddest o’er the meads

Rich in troops of unbacked steeds,

And with flashing sword didst slay

All the yet unparted prey

Of the Greeks, in foray ta’en,

Spoiling all their hard earned gain.

Such the scandal, as we hear,

Odysseus breathes in every ear;

And he wins belief, for now

Thou dost seem thy guilt to avow,

And the rumour spreads and swells.

Even more than he who tells,

Every hearer takes delight

In thy woes, for envious spite.

So it falls; the noblest heart

Is a target for each dart;

Aimed at me such shafts would fail:

Envy doth the great assail.