But ancient Arrogance delights to generateArrogance, young and strong mid mortals’ sorrow,Or now, or then, when comes the appointed morrow.And she bears young Satiety;And, fiend with whom nor fight nor war can be,Unholy Daring — twin black CursesWithin the household, children like their nurses. But Justice shines in smoke-grimed habitations,And honours the well-omened life;While, — gold-besprinkled stationsWhere the hands’ filth is rife,With backward-turning eyesLeaving, — to holy seats she hies,Not worshipping the power of wealthStamped with applause by stealth:And to its end directs each thing begun. Approach then, my monarch, of Troia the sacker, of Atreus the son!How ought I address thee, how ought I revere thee, — nor yet overhittingNor yet underbending the grace that is fitting?Many of mortals hasten to honour the seeming-to-be —