Non ego quas fati certus sibi morte canora inferias praemittit olor nec rupe quod atra Tyrrhenae volucres nautis praedulce minantur in patrios adhibebo rogos, non murmure trunco quod gemit et durae queritur Philomela sorori, nota nimis vati.
I shall not bring to my fathers pyre the offering that the swan, certain of his fate, sends before him at his tuneful death, nor yet the sweet, sweet menace that the bird maidens of the Tyrrhenian make to sailors from their black rock, nor the mutilated murmur of Philomelas moans as she complains to her pitiless sister.
final_alignments\Statius_Silvae_Book5.json