quotiens amissus eunti limes, et errantem comitis solacia flammae destituunt gelidaeque facem vicere tenebrae! iamque supinantur fessis lateque fatiscunt Penthei devexa iugi, cum pectore anhelo iam prope deficiens sic incipit orsa Menoetes: haud procul, exacti si spes non blanda laboris, Ogygias, Argia, domos et egena sepulcri busta iacere reor: grave comminus aestuat aer sordidus, et magnae redeunt per inane volucres.
How often does she lose her way, how often does the comfort of her companion torch desert her and the chill darkness overcome its flame! And now the slopes of Pentheus ridge incline downwards before the weary wayfarers in a broad declivity, when with panting breath, now almost past his strength, Menoetes so begins to speak: Argia, I think that not far away, if the hope of toil performed does not flatter, lie Ogygian dwellings and bodies in need of burial. Close at hand the pulsing air is heavy and unclean, great birds return through the void.
final_alignments\Statius_Thebaid_Book12.json