Non ego, centena si quis mea pectora laxet voce deus, tot busta simul vulgique ducumque, tot pariter gemitus dignis conatibus aequem: turbine quo sese caris instraverit audax ignibus Evadne fulmenque in pectore magno quaesierit; quo more iacens super oscula saevi corporis infelix excuset Tydea coniunx; ut saevos narret vigiles Argia sorori; Arcada quo planctu genetrix Erymanthia clamet, Arcada, consumpto servantem sanguine vultus, Arcada, quem geminae pariter flevere cohortes.
Were some god to loose my breast in a hundred voices I could not in worthy effort do justice to so many pyres of captains and common folk alike, such a chorus of groanings: telling how Evadne boldly strewed herself on beloved flames, seeking the thunderbolt in the mighty breast; in what fashion Tydeus hapless wife excuses him as she lies over the savage corpses kisses; how Argia tells her sister of the cruel sentinels; with what lamentation the Erymanthian mother bewails the Arcadian, who keeps his beauty though his blood is spent, the Arcadian, for whom both armies wept alike.
final_alignments\Statius_Thebaid_Book12.json