Upon the very statues of the gods.775
O all-enduring sun, though thou didst flee
In horror from the sight, and the radiant noon
Didst into darkness plunge; 'twas all too late.
The father tears his sons, and impiously feasts
On his own flesh. See, there in state he sits,
His hair anointed with the dripping nard,780
His senses dulled with wine. And oft the food,
As if in horror held, sticks in his throat.
In this thine evil hour one good remains,