Quis numerum ferri gentesque et robora dictu aequarit mortale sonans? suus excit in arma antiquam Tiryntha deus; non fortibus illa infecunda viris famave immanis alumni degenerat, sed lapsa situ fortuna, neque addunt robur opes; rarus vacuis habitator in arvis monstrat Cyclopum ductas sudoribus arces.
Who of mortal voice could match in words the quantity of steel, the peoples, and the might? Ancient Tiryns is roused to arms by her god.  Not barren is she of brave men nor degenerate from the fame of her huge son, but her fortune has sunk in decay and wealth adds not its power. A rare dweller in the empty fields points to the towers raised by Cyclopes  sweat.
final_alignments\Statius_Thebaid_Book4.json