ni praesaga meos ludunt praecordia sensus, ingens hic terris crescit labor; ora parentis agnosco torvaque oculos sub fronte minaces vagitumque gravem atque irarum elementa mearum.
If my prophetic soul does not deceive my feeling, vast suffering for the world is growing up in you; I recognize my fathers countenance, and the defiant eyes beneath a frowning brow; I note the depth of your infant cries and the beginnings of a fierceness like my own.
final_alignments\Silius_Italicus_Punica_Book3.json