illic Oebalio non finderet ara disco Graiorum vis nuda virum, non arva rigaret sudor equum aut putri sonitum daret ungula fossa, sed Phoebi simplex chorus en frondentia vatum praemia laudato, genitor, tibi rite ligarent! ipse madens oculis, araeque animaeque sacerdos praecinerem gemitum, cui te nec Cerberus omni ore nec Orpheae quirent avertere leges.
There no naked strength of Grecian athletes would cleave the air with Oebalian disk, no sweat of horses bedew the ground, nor hoof resound on crumbling trench; only Phoebus choir (behold!) would duly bind the leafy prize of poets on your lauded brow, my father. I myself moist-eyed would lead the dirge, priest of the altar and of your soul. Not Cerberus with all his mouths nor laws of Orpheus could turn you away from it.
final_alignments\Statius_Silvae_Book5.json