ἐκεῖνος οὔτε στεφάνων
οὔτε βαθεῖαν κυλίκων
νεῖμεν ἐμοὶ τέρψιν ὁμιλεῖν ,
οὔτε γλυκὺν αὐλῶν ὄτοβον ,
δύσμορος , οὔτ᾽ ἐννυχίαν
τέρψιν ἰαύειν .
ἐρώτων δ᾽ ἐρώτων ἀπέπαυσεν , ὤμοι .
κεῖμαι δ᾽ , ἀμέριμνος οὕτως ,
ἀεὶ πυκιναῖς δρόσοις
τεγγόμενος κόμας ,
λυγρᾶς μνήματα Τροίας .
καὶ πρὶν μὲν αἰὲν νυχίου
δείματος ἦν μοι προβολὰ
καὶ βελέων θούριος Αἴας :
νῦν δ᾽ οὗτος ἀνεῖται στυγερῷ
δαίμονι : τίς μοι , τίς ἔτ᾽ οὖν
τέρψις ἐπέσται ;
γενοίμαν ἵν᾽ ὑλᾶεν ἔπεστι πόντου
πρόβλημ᾽ ἁλίκλυστον , ἄκραν
ὑπὸ πλάκα Σουνίου ,
τὰς ἱερὰς ὅπως
προσείποιμεν Ἀθάνας .
That man did not deal out the pleasure of crowns
nor of deep cups
to me , with which to consort .
Nor the sweet noise of flutes ,
ill-fated , nor the pleasure
to pass the night .
And of love , of love he has hindered , oh me !
I lie , uncared for in this way ,
always by heavy dew drops
my hair is moist ,
memories of miserable Troy .
And before my defense against nightly fears
and missiles was always furious Ajax .
But now he is given to a hateful divine power .
What for me , what pleasure then will be ?
If I were where the wooded , sea-washed bank is set over the sea , over the plain of Sunium , so that I could address holy Athens .
He gave me as my portion no delight
in garlands or full cups of wine ,
no sweet tunes from flutes around me ,
that ill-fated wretch , or in the night
the joys of sleep . And as for love—alas ! —
he has denied me love . I lie here
forgotten , my hair always drenched
from thickly falling dew , ah yes ,
my memories from desolate Troy .
Bold Ajax used to be my rampart once ,
my constant wall against night fears
and flying weapons aimed at me .
But he has now become a sacrifice
to some malevolent deity .
What pleasure , then , what joy
now lies in store for me ?
O how I wish I were back there ,
where the wooded wave-washed headland
juts out , our guard against the open sea ,
below the high flat rock of Sunium ,
and we could then greet sacred Athens .