Quis mihi tot coetus inter populique patrumque sit curae votique locus? tamen ardua testor sidera teque, pater vatum Thymbraee, quis omni luce mihi, quis nocte timor, dum postibus haerens assiduus nunc aure vigil nunc lumine cuncta aucupor; immensae veluti conexa carinae cumba minor, cum saevit hiems, pro parte furentes parva receptat aquas et eodem volvitur austro.
Amid so many gatherings of Fathers and people what room for anxious prayers of mine? Yet I call the stars on high and you, Thymbraean father of poets, to witness how I spent every day and night in terror, ever clinging to the doorway, watchful to pick up every hint now with eye, now with ear; as a little skiff attached to a great ship, when the storm blows high, takes in her small share of the raging waters and tosses in the same south wind.
final_alignments\Statius_Silvae_Book1.json