Stabat fatidici prope saeva altaria vatis maestus, adhuc patriae tantum communia lugens fata, Creon: grandem subiti cum fulminis ictum, non secus ac torta traiectus cuspide pectus, accipit exanimis sentitque Menoecea posci.
Near the prophetic seers cruel altar stood Creon. Sad he was, but so far mourning only his countrys and the common fate; but then he feels the mighty impact of a sudden thunderbolt, barely living, as though a flying javelin had transfixed his breast, and he knows that Menoeceus is demanded, for fear shows and persuades.
final_alignments\Statius_Thebaid_Book10.json