nos anxia plebes, nos miseri, quibus unde dies suprema, quis aevi exitus incertum, quibus instet fulmen ab astris, quae nubes fatale sonet.
We, anxious multitude, we are miserable, not knowing whence comes the final day, what shall be the manner of our going, from what stars looms the thunderbolt, what cloud booms our fate.
final_alignments\Statius_Silvae_Book2.json