ingentes infelix terra tumultus lucis adhuc medio solaque in nocte per umbras exspirat, nigri cum vana in proelia surgunt terrigenae; fugit incepto tremibundus ab arvo agricola insanique domum rediere iuvenci.
Even yet at midday  or in the shades of lonely night the unlucky soil breathes out mighty tumult when the black sons of earth rise up to phantom combat. The farmer flees trembling from the field he has begun and the steers go back home in frenzy.
final_alignments\Statius_Thebaid_Book4.json