Sic Proba praecipuo natos exornat amictu: quae decorat mundum, cuius Romana potestas fetibus augetur. credas ex aethere lapsam stare Pudicitiam vel sacro ture vocatam 195 Iunonem Inachiis oculos advertere templis. talem nulla refert antiquis pagina libris nec Latiae cecinere tubae nec Graeca vetustas. coniuge digna Probo; nam tantum coetibus extat femineis, quantum supereminet ille maritos. 200 ceu sibi certantes, sexus quid possit uterque, hunc legere torum. taceat Nereida nuptam Pelion. o duplici fecundam consule matrem felicemque uterum, qui nomina parturit annis! Ut sceptrum gessere manu membrisque rigentes aptavere togas, signum dat summus hiulca 200 nube Pater gratamque facem per inane rotantes prospera vibrati tonuerunt omina nimbi. accepit sonitus curvis Tiberinus in antris ima valle sedens. adrectis auribus haesit, 210 unde repentinus populi fragor. ilicet herbis pallentes thalamos et structa cubilia musco deserit ac Nymphis urnam commendat erilem. illi glauca nitent hirsuto lumina vultu caeruleis infecta notis, reddentia patrem 215 Oceanum; crispo densantur gramine colla; vertice luxuriat toto crinalis harundo, * * * * * Page 17 deities, the Aegean smiled more gently on its nurslings, the Aegean whose soft ripples bore witness to its joy. So Proba[44] adorns her children with vestment rare, Proba, the world’s glory, by whose increase the power of Rome, too, is increased. You would have thought her Modesty’s self fallen from heaven or Juno, summoned by sacred incense, turning her eyes on the shrines of Argos. No page in ancient story tells of such a mother, no Latin Muse nor old Grecian tale. Worthy is she of Probus for a husband, for he surpassed all husbands as she all wives. ’Twas as though in rivalry either sex had done its uttermost and so brought about this marriage. Let Pelion vaunt no more that Nereid bride.[45] Happy thou that art the mother of consuls twain, blessed thy womb whose offspring have given the year their name for its own. So soon as their hands held the sceptres and the jewel-studded togas had enfolded their limbs the almighty Sire vouchsafes a sign with riven cloud and the shaken heavens, projecting a welcoming flash through the void, thundered with prosperous omen. Father Tiber, seated in that low valley, heard the sound in his labyrinthine cave. He stays with ears pricked up wondering whence this sudden popular clamour comes. Straightway he leaves his couch of green leaves, his mossy bed, and entrusts his urn to his attendant nymphs. Grey eyes flecked with blue shine out from his shaggy countenance, recalling his father Oceanus; thick curlèd grasses cover his neck and lush sedge crowns his head.