carpitur eximium Fato Priscilla decorem, qualiter alta comam, silvarum gloria, pinus seu Iovis igne malo seu iam radice soluta deficit et nulli spoliata remurmurat aurae.
Fate plucks away Priscillas peerless beauty, as when a tall-crested pine, glory of the forest, wastes away, whether by Joves destructive fire or loosened root, and despoiled returns no whisper to the breeze.
final_alignments\Statius_Silvae_Book5.json