non umbrae altorum nemorum, non mollia possunt prata movere animum, non qui per saxa volutus purior electro campum petit amnis; at ima solvuntur latera, atque oculos stupor urget inertis ad terramque fluit devexo pondere cervix.
No shades of deep woods, no soft meadows can touch his heart, no stream purer than amber, rolling over the rocks in its course towards the plain; but his flanks are unstrung throughout, numbness weighs upon his languid eyes, and his neck sinks with drooping weight to earth.
final_alignments\Virgil_Georgics.json