The long historian of my country's woes.
Like leaves on trees the race of man is found,- Now green in youth, now withering on the ground; Another race the following spring supplies: They fall successive, and successive rise.
Will cast the spear and leave the rest to Jove.
It was built against the will of the immortal gods, and so it did not last for long.
Sweet sleep fell upon his eyelids, unwakeful, most pleasant, the nearest like death.
It [revenge] is sweeter far than flowing honey.