Chorus
134
O son of Telamon, whose ample sway
Deep-rooted in the sea, that rolls around,
The strong based shores of Salamis obey,
When with success and glory thou art crown'd
My heart beats high with joy: but when the hand
Of angry Jove afflicts thee, or thy fame
Greece taints with envious and malignant blame,
I fear, I tremble like the fluttering dove...
Such terrors now around us blackening stand:
For slander says that o'er the pastured plain
By thee this night the flocks, the herds were slain,
Spoils of the ravaged vales, (O deed abhorr'd!)
Slain by thy flaming sword.
Such tales Ulysses with insidious art
Against thee forms, and whispers in each ear;
His specious fictions all believe who hear,
Feeling more joy than cheers th' inventor's heart,
And with malicious insults mocks thy woes.
Who wings his shafts against the great and high,
Unerring to the mark beholds them fly:
'Gainst me their aim they lose.
Envy crawls on, the potent keen to wound;
Yet, when the hour brings danger forth, the low
Without them are a tottering bulwark found;
These in the great their strong protectors know,
The great by these protected firmly stand.
But to th' insensate wisdom speaks in vain :
Such this tumultuous train,
And to repel their insults weak our hand,
Weak without thee: for now, escaped thy sight,
Like flocks of birds they scream, and vex the ear:
Wou'dst thou, O king, appear,
With awe they view the lordly vulture's flight,
And all their clamorous cries are hush'd through fear.
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Thee hath the Virgin Huntress sprung from Jove,
135
Whose altars o'er the Scythian Taurus flame,
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(O wild report, thou parent of our shame !)
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Urged 'mongst the herds with slaughtering rage to rove,
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To her no honours for some conquest paid?
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Didst thou the glorious spoils of war detain?
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Were her loved hinds beneath thy arrows slain,
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As fearless o'er some hallow'd vale they stray'd?
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Did the stern god, that in th' ensanguin'd field
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Lifts high his blazing shield,
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In vengeance send, defrauded of his right,
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The frenzy of the night?
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For never, did thy sense its seat maintain,
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O son of Telamon, with rage possest
135
Wou'dst thou spread carnage o'er the pastured plain.
135
Heav'n-sent this wild disease hath fired thy breast.
135
O Phœbus, and thou ruler of the sky,
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Avert this ill report! To blast thy fame
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If the great kings, and chiefs of mighty name,
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In secret basely forge this calumny,
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Or he of the accurst Sisyphian race,
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Yield not to the disgrace;
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Nor, thine eye fix'd within thy naval tent,
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The vile report augment.
135
Rise, king of Salamis, assert thy fame:
135
Why to thy seat thus fixed? Thy long delay
135
Adds to this heav'n-sent mischief fiercer flame.
135
For uncontroll'd the insults of thy foes,
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Like fires exposed to winds, now force their way.
135
No bounds the spreading slander knows;
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From tongue to tongue the taunts, the mockings roll;
135
And anguish rends my soul.
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