ille ego clamatus sacris ululatibus amnis, qui molles thyrsos Baccheaque cornua puro fonte lavare feror, stipatus caedibus artas in freta quaero vias; non Strymonos impia tanto stagna cruore natant, non spumifer altius Hebrus Gradivo bellante rubet.
I, river resounding with holy howls, I who am said to wash soft wands and Bacchus horns with my pure fount, am choked with carcases and seek a narrow passage to the sea. The impious pools of Strymon swim not with such gore, foaming Hebrus reddens no higher when Gradivus wars.
final_alignments\Statius_Thebaid_Book9.json