frangitur omne nemus, rapiunt antiqua procellae bracchia silvarum, nullisque aspecta per aevum solibus umbrosi patuere aestiva Lycaei.
Every forest is shattered; gusts snatch aged branches, the summer stations of shady Lycaeus, seen by no suns in history, are laid open.
final_alignments\Statius_Thebaid_Book1.json