But wanton Outrage done in days of old Another wanton Outrage still doth bear, And mocks at human woes with scorn o'erbold, Or soon or late as they their fortune share. That other in its turn Begets Satiety, And lawless Might that doth all hindrance spurn, And sacred right defy, Two Atès fell within their dwelling-place, Like to their parent race. ANTISTROPHE IV Yet Justice still shines bright in dwellings murk And dim with smoke, and honours calm content; But gold-bespangled homes, where guilt doth lurk, She leaves with glance in horror backward bent, And draws with reverent fear To places holier far, And little recks the praise the prosperous hear, Whose glories tarnished are; But still towards its destined goal she brings The whole wide course of things. Say then, son of Atreus, thou Who com'st as Troïa's conqueror now, What form of welcome right and meet, What homage thy approach to greet, Shall I now use in measure true, Nor more nor less than that is due? Many men there are, I wis, Who in seeming place their bliss, Caring less for that which is. If one suffers, then their wail Loudly doth the ear assail; Yet have they nor lot nor part In the grief that stirs the heart; So too the joyous men will greet With smileless faces counterfeit: But shepherd who his own sheep knows Will scan the lips that fawn and gloze, Ready still to praise and bless With weak and watery kindliness. Thou when thou the host did'st guide For Helen—truth I will not hide— In mine eyes had'st features grim, Such as unskilled art doth limn, Not guiding well the helm of thought, And giving souls with grief o'erwrought False courage from fresh victims brought, But with nought of surface zeal, Now full glad of heart I feel, And hail thy acts as deeds well done: Thou too in time shall know each one, And learn who wrongly, who aright In house or city dwells in might. VERSES 947-1001 STROPHE I Why thus continually Do ever-haunting phantoms hover nigh My hearth that bodeth ill? Why doth the prophet's strain unbidden still, Unbought, flow on and on? Why on my mind's dear throne Hath faith lost all her former power to fling That terror from me as an idle thing? Yet since the ropes were fastened in the sand That moored the ships to land, When the great naval host to Ilion went, Time hath passed on to feeble age and spent. ANTISTROPHE I