abisse deos dilapsaque numina castris: heu ubi laurigeri currus sollemniaque arma et galeae vittatus apex? hoc antra lacusque Castalii tripodumque fides? sic gratus Apollo? quis mihi sidereos lapsus mentemque sinistri fulguris, aut caesis saliat quod numen in extis, quando iter, unde morae, quae saevis utilis armis, quae pacem magis hora velit? quis iam omne futurum proferet, aut cum quo volucres mea fata loquentur? hos quoque bellorum casus nobisque tibique praescieras et (quanta sacro sub pectore virtus!) venisti tamen et miseris comes additus armis.
and in the tents there is no talk save that the gods have gone, their deity vanished from the camp: Alas, where is the laurelled chariot, the accustomed arms, the fillet-circled helmet top? Is this what comes of cavern and Castalian pool, this the faith of tripods? Such Apollos gratitude? Who shall tell me of the fallings of the stars, what means lightning on the left or what divinity leaps in slaughtered entrails, when to go, wherefore delays, which hour is good for cruel war, which rather favours peace? Who now shall unveil all futurity or with whom shall birds speak of my destiny? The fortunes of this war also you knew, for us and for yourself, and yet (what courage in your holy heart!) you came and joined us, comrade in luckless arms.
final_alignments\Statius_Thebaid_Book8.json