non tibi sunt tristes curae nec luctus, Osiri, sed chorus et cantus et levis aptus amor, sed varii flores et frons redimita corymbis, fusa sed ad teneros lutea palla pedes et Tyriae vestes et dulcis tibia cantu et levis oceultis conscia cista sacris.
Harsh cares and grief are not for thee, Osiris, but dance and songs and lightsome love. Yea, flowers of many hues and brows with the berried ivy circled, and robe of saffron flowing over youthful feet, raiment of Tyre and sweet-singing pipe and the light basket that shares the secret of its holy things.
final_alignments\Tibullus_Elegies.json