Quis tibi Baccheos, Eunaee, relinquere cultus, quis lucos, vetitus quibus emansisse sacerdos, suasit et assuetum Bromio mutare furorem? quem terrere queas? clipei penetrabile textum pallentes hederae Nysaeaque serta coronant, candida pampineo subnectitur instita pilo, crine latent umeri, crescunt lanugine malae, et rubet imbellis Tyrio subtemine thorax, bracchiaque in manicis et pictae vincula plantae carbaseique sinus, et fibula rasilis auro Taenariam fulva mordebat iaspide pallam, quam super a tergo velox gorytos et arcus pendentesque sonant aurata lynce pharetrae.
Who persuaded you, Eunaeus, to leave Bacchus worship and the groves away from which his priest must not pass a night and to change a madness used to Bromius?  Whom could you frighten? Nysaean garlands of pale ivy wreathe the penetrable texture of your shield and a white ribbon binds your vine-wood javelin, your shoulders are hidden by your hair, your cheeks grow with down, your unwarlike corselet blushes with Tyrian thread, your arms are sleeved, the sandals on your feet embroidered,  you are swathed in linen, and a smooth golden clasp bites your Taenarian  cloak with a tawny jasper while up at the back of it clatter a swift bow case  and a bow and hanging quiver of gold-figured lynx hide.
final_alignments\Statius_Thebaid_Book7.json