o tum quantus ego aut quanta votiva movebo plectra lyra, cum me magna cervice ligatum attolles umeris atque in mea pectora primum incumbes e puppe novus servataque reddes colloquia inque vicem medios narrabimus annos! tu rapidum Euphraten et regia Bactra sacrasque antiquae Babylonis opes et Zeugma, Latinae pacis iter, qua dulce nemus florentis Idumes, quo pretiosa Tyros rubeat, quo purpura suco Sidoniis iterata cadis, ubi germine primum candida felices sudent opobalsama virgae: ast ego devictis dederim quae busta Pelasgis quaeve laboratas claudat mihi pagina Thebas.
Oh, how tall shall I stand then, on how mighty a lyre shall I twang a votive quill! My arms about your stalwart neck, you shall raise me on your shoulders. Mine shall be the first breast on which you fall, fresh from board. You will give me the talk you have been hoarding up and we shall tell each other of the years between: you of swift Euphrates and royal Bactra and the sacred wealth of ancient Babylon and Zeugma, highway of Latian peace, where the sweet woods of flowering Idume, what the juice that makes costly Tyre to blush and the purple twice dipped in the vats of Sidon, where first luxuriant branches sweat bright balsam from the bud: but my tale shall be of the tombs I have given to the vanquished Pelasgi and the page that closes my toil of Thebes.
final_alignments\Statius_Silvae_Book3.json