Tityre, tu patulae recubans sub tegmine fagi silvestrem tenui musam meditaris avena: nos patriae finis et dulcia linquimus arva; nos patriam fugimus: tu, Tityre, lentus in umbra formosam resonare doces Amaryllida silvas.
You, Tityrus, lie under the canopy of a spreading beech, wooing the woodland Muse on slender reed, but we are leaving our countrys bounds and sweet fields. We are outcasts from our country; you, Tityrus, at ease beneath the shade, teach the woods to re-echo fair Amaryllis.
final_alignments\Virgil_Eclogues.json