di patrii, purgamus agros, purgamus agrestes: vos mala de nostris pellite limitibus, neu seges eludat messem fallacibus herbis, neu timeat celeres tardior agna lupos.
Gods of our sires, we cleanse the farms, we cleanse the farming folk. Do ye outside our boundariesdrive all evil things. Let not our sown fields mock the reaping with defaulting blade. Let not our slow lambs fear the swifter wolves.
final_alignments\Tibullus_Elegies.json