cara cervice mariti fusa novi lacrimas iam solvit et occupat artus: Aspiciamne iterum meque hoc in pectore ponam, Aeacide? rursusque tuos dignabere portus, an tumidus Teucrosque lares et capta reportans Pergama virgineae noles meminisse latebrae? quid precer, heu! timeamve prius? quidve anxia mandem, cui vix flere vacat? modo te nox una deditque inviditque mihi thalamis haec tempora nostris? hicne est liber hymen? o dulcia furta dolique, o timor! abripitur miserae permissus Achilles
Embracing her new husbands dear neck, she lets her tears now have way and clasps his limbs: Shall I see you again and lay myself on your breast, Aeacides? Will you once more think your refuge worthy? Or when you proudly bring back Teucrian homes and captured Pergamus, will you wish to forget your maidenly hiding place? What should I beg, alas, or what fear first? What charge in my anxiety can I give you, when I have scarce time to weep? One single night has just given you to me and grudged you. Is this the period for our nuptials? This free Hymen? Ah stolen sweets, ah guile! Ah fear! Woe is me, Achilles is given and snatched away.
final_alignments\Statius_Achilleid.json