L. Lentus ab urbe venis, Corydon; vicesima certe nox fuit, ut nostrae cupiunt te cernere silvae, ut tua maerentes exspectant iubila tauri.
L. You are slow, Corydon, in coming back from Rome. For twenty nights past, of a truth, have our woods longed to see you, and the saddened bulls waited for your yodellings.
final_alignments\Calpernius_Siculus_Bucolics.json