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Aeschylus, agamemnon<br />
antistrophe 3<br />
Long, long ago to mortals this was told,<br />
How sweet security and blissful state<br />
Have curses for their children-so men hold-<br />
And for the man of all-too prosperous fate<br />
Springs from a bitter seed some woe insatiate.<br />
Alone, alone, I deem far otherwise;<br />
Not bliss nor wealth it is, but impious deed,<br />
From which that after-growth of ill doth rise!<br />
Woe springs from wrong, the plant is like the seed-<br />
While Right, in honour's house, doth its own likeness breed.<br />
strophe 4<br />
Some past impiety, some grey old crime,<br />
Breeds the young curse, that wantons in our ill,<br />
Early or late, when haps th'appointed time-<br />
And out of light brings power of darkness still,<br />
A master-fiend, a foe, unseen, invincible;<br />
A pride accursed, that broods upon the race<br />
And home in which dark Ate holds her sway-<br />
Sin's child and Woe's, that wears its parents' face;<br />
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