Book XVI, 134: On the Same

Niobe, daughter of Tantalus, hearken to my word, the announcer of woe; receive the most mournful tale of thy sorrows. Loose the fillet of thy hair; thy male children, alas thou didst bear but to fall by the woe-working arrows of Phoebus. Thy boys are no more. But what is this other thing? What do I see? Alack alack the flood of blood has overtaken the maidens... One clasps her mother’s knees, one rests on her lap, one on the ground, and the head of one has fallen on her breast. Another is smitten with terror at the shaft flying straight to her, and one stoops before the arrows, while the rest still live and see the light. And the mother, who erst took pleasure in her tongue’s chatter, now for horror stands like a rock built of flesh.