Qui mente novissimus exit, lucis amor. - Publius Papinius Statius

Nec frons triste rigens nimiusque in moribus horror
sed simplex hilarisque fides et mixta pudori
gratia.

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.

Damnatus flammae torus.