duc, ait, ad natos patremque recentibus, oro, inice funeribus! cunctatur nescia virgo quid paret; impediunt iter implicitosque morantur arma, viri, currus, altaque in strage seniles deficiunt gressus et dux miseranda laborat.
Lead me, he says, to my sons, cast the father, I beg, on the fresh corpses. The girl hesitates, not knowing what he intends. Arms and men and chariots hamper their way, entangling and delaying, and in the deep carnage the old mans steps falter and his pitiful guide labours.
final_alignments\Statius_Thebaid_Book11.json