O saevae nimium gravesque Parcae! o numquam data longa fata summis! cur plus, ardua, casibus patetis? cur saeva vice magna non senescunt? sic natum Nasamonii Tonantis post ortus obitusque fulminatos angusto Babylon premit sepulchro; sic fixum Paridis manu trementis Peliden Thetis horruit cadentem; sic ripis ego murmurantis Hebri non mutum caput Orpheos sequebar; sic et tu (rabidi nefas tyranni!) iussus praecipitem subire Lethen, dum pugnas canis arduaque voce das solacia grandibus sepulchris, (o dirum scelus, o scelus!) tacebis.
Ah Parcae, too cruel, too harsh! Ah length of days never given to the highest! Why is eminence more open to mischance? Why the cruel lot of greatness, to die young? So does Babylon cover the Nasamonian Thunderers son, whose lightning struck east and west, with a narrow tomb. So Thetis shuddered to see the son of Peleus fall, pierced by the hand of trembling Paris. So once I followed Orpheus vocal head on the banks of murmuring Hebrus. And so even you (outrage of a crazy tyrant!), bidden plunge into rushing Lethe as you sang of battles and with lofty utterance gave solace to grand sepulchers (O foul crime, O crime!), shall be silent,
final_alignments\Statius_Silvae_Book2.json