quin etiam in silvas, simulato numine Bacchi, maius adorta nefas maioremque orsa furorem evolat et natam frondosis montibus abdit, quo thalamum eripiat Teucris taedasque moretur, euhoe Bacche fremens, solum te virgine dignum vociferans: etenim mollis tibi sumere thyrsos, te lustrare choro, sacrum tibi pascere crinem.
Nay more, feigning the spirit of Bacchus, essaying a greater sin and launching a greater madness, she flies forth to the forest, and hides her daughter in the leafy mountains, in order by this means to rob the Teucrians of their marriage and delay the nuptial torch. Evoe Bacchus! she shrieks. You alone, she shouts, are worthy of the maiden! It is for you, in truth, she takes up the waving thyrsus, to you she pays honour in the dance, for you she grows her sacred tresses.
final_alignments\Virgil_Aeneid_Book7.json