verba miser frustra non proficientia perdo. ipsa graves spargunt ora loquentis aquae, terribilisque Notus iactat mea dicta, precesque ad quos mittuntur, non sinit ire deos. ergo idem venti, ne causa laedar in una, velaque nescio quo votaque nostra ferunt. me miserum, quanti montes volvuntur aquarum! iam iam tacturos sidera summa putes. quantae diducto subsidunt aequore valles! iam iam tacturas Tartara nigra putes.
But, wretch that I am, to no purpose am I wasting profitless words. My very lips as I speak are sprayed by the heavy waves, and dread Notus hurls away my words nor suffers my prayers to reach the gods to whom they are directed. So the same winds, that I be not punished in one way only, are driving'I know not whither'both my sails and my prayers. Wretched me! what vast mountains of water heave themselves aloft! Now, now, you think, they will touch the highest stars. What mighty abysses settle beneath us as the flood yawns apart! Now, now you think they will touch black Tartarus.
final_alignments\Ovid_Tristia.json