At tibi quanta domus rutila testudine fulgens conexusque ebori virgarum argenteus ordo argutumque tuo stridentia limina cornu et querulae iam sponte fores! vacat ille beatus carcer et angusti nusquam convicia tecti.
But what a fine house was yours! Radiant the ruddy dome, married with ivory the range of silver bars, loud with your clattering beak the threshold and the doors, now alas! making their own complaint. Empty is that happy prison, departed the clamor of the narrow dwelling.
final_alignments\Statius_Silvae_Book2.json