“Hoc mihi iam pridem Lachesis grandaeva canebat augurium: Phrygiae casus venisse supremos delapsus testatur apex, heu sanguine qualis 290 ibit Sangarius quantasque cadavera lenti Maeandri passura moras! inmobilis haeret terminus, haec dudum nato placuere Tonanti. par et finitimis luctus, frustraque Lyaei non defensuros implorat Lydia thyrsos. 295 iamque vale Phrygiae tellus perituraque flammis moenia, conspicuas quae nunc attollitis arces, mox campi nudumque solum! dilecta valete flumina! non vestris ultra bacchabor in antris nec iuga sulcabit noster Berecynthia currus.” 300 dixit et ad tristes convertit tympana planctus. labentem patriam sacris ululatibus Attis personat et torvi lacrimis maduere leones. Eutropius, nequeat quamvis metuenda taceri clades et trepidus vulgaverit omnia rumor, 305 ignorare tamen fingit regnique ruinas dissimulat: parvam latronum errare catervam, ad sontes tormenta magis quam tela parari nec duce frangendas iactat, sed iudice vires: vasta velut Libyae venantum vocibus ales 310 cum premitur calidas cursu transmittit harenas inque modum veli sinuatis flamine pennis pulverulenta volat; si iam vestigia retro clara sonent, oblita fugae stat lumine clauso (ridendum!) revoluta caput creditque latere, 315 quem non ipsa videt. furtim tamen ardua mittit * * * * * Page 207 “This is the portent that agèd Lachesis foretold long years ago. My fallen crown assures me that Phrygia’s final crisis is upon her. Alas for the blood that shall redden Sangarius’ waves; for all the corpses that shall retard Meander’s slow stream. The hour is fixed irrevocably; such, long since, was my son’s, the Thunderer’s, will. A like disaster awaits the neighbouring peoples; in vain does Lydia invoke the thyrsus of Bacchus in her defence. Now fare thee well, land of Phrygia, farewell, walls doomed to the flames, walls that now rear aloft proud towers but will soon be levelled with the ground and the bare earth. Farewell, dear rivers: never more shall I hold my inspired revels in your grottoes; no more shall my chariot leave the traces of its wheels on Berecynthus’ heights.” So spake she, and turned her drums to strains of mourning. Attis filled his devoted country with holy lamentations and Cybele’s tawny lions burst into tears.