vos modo, quos certe nullo, puto, crimine laesi, contenti nostris iam, precor, este malis! nec tamen, ut cuncti miserum servare velitis, quod periit, salvum iam caput esse potest, ut mare considat ventisque ferentibus utar, ut mihi parcatis, non minus exul ero. non ego divitias avidus sine fine parandi latum mutandis mercibus aequor aro, nec peto, quas quondam petii studiosus, Athenas, oppida non Asiae, non loca visa prius, non ut Alexandri claram delatus ad urbem delicias videam, Nile iocose, tuas. quod faciles opto ventos,'quis credere possit?' Sarmatis est tellus, quam mea vela petunt. obligor, ut tangam laevi fera litora Ponti; quodque sit a patria tam fuga tarda, queror.
But ye, whom surely no crime of mine has wronged, be content by now with my woes. And yet, though ye be all willing to save a wretch, that life which is lost cannot now be safe. Even should the sea grow calm and favouring breezes bear me on'even should ye spare me'I shall be not less an exile. Not in greed of limitless wealth do I plough the sea to trade my wares nor am I on my way to Athens as once I was while a student, nor to the cities of Asia, nor the places I have seen before, nor am I sailing to Alexanders famous city to see thy pleasures, merry Nile. The reason of my prayers for favouring winds (who could believe it?) is the Sarmatian land, the object of my voyage. I am making vows to reach the wild shores of ill-omened Pontus, and I complain that my journey into exile from my native land is so slow!
final_alignments\Ovid_Tristia.json