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 Can ill be trusted to guard their walls.

Best prosper the lowly in league with the great;

And the great have need to be served by the less.

But none to the knowledge of such plain truths

May lead minds witless and froward.

Even such are the men who murmur against thee:

And vainly without thine aid, O King,

We strive to repell their accusing hate.

For whene'er they are safe from the scorn of thy glance,

They chatter and screech like birds in a flock:

But smitten with dread of the powerful vulture,

Doubtless at once, should'st thou but appear,

They will cower down dumbly in silence.

Was it the Tauric Olympian Artemis,

(Oh, the dread rumour of woe,

Parent of my grievous shame!)

Who drove thee forth to slaughter the herds of the people,

In wrath perchance for some unpaid-for victory,

Whether defrauded of glorious spoil, or offerings

Due for a stag that was slain?

Or did the bronze-clad Demon of battle, aggrieved

On him who scorned the might of his succouring spear,

Plot revenge by nightly deception?

Ne'er of itself had thy heart, son of Telamon,

Strayed into folly so far

As to murder flocks and herds.

Escape from heaven-sent madness is none: yet Apollo

And Zeus avert these evil rumours of the Greeks.

But should the story be false, these crafty slanders

Spread by the powerful kings,

And by the child of the infamous Sisyphid line,

No more, my master, thus in the tent by the sea

Hide thy countenance, earning an ill fame.

Nay, but arise from thy seat, where'er so long wrapt in

Brooding pause from the battle thou hast lurked: arise,