Excidat illa dies aevo nec postera credant saecula. nos certe taceamus et obruta multa nocte tegi propriae patiamur crimina gentis. - Publius Papinius Statius

For what cause, youthful Sleep, kindest of gods, or what error have I deserved, alas to lack your boon? All cattle are mute and birds and beasts, and the nodding tree-tops feign weary slumbers, and the raging rivers abate their roar; the ruffling of the waves subsides, the sea is still, leaning against the shore.

Laetifici plausus missusque ad sidera vulgi
clamor.

Crimine quo merui, juvenis placidissime divum,
quove errore miser, donis ut solus egerem,
Somne, tuis? tacet omne pecus volucresque feraeque
et simulant fessos curvata cacumina somnos,
nec trucibus fluviis idem sonus; occidit horror
aequoris, et terris maria adclinata quiescunt.