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O ye campfires and command tent of Tatius squadron, and Sabine arms so handsome to my eyes, would that I might sit as a captive before your hearths, if as a captive I might only gaze on the face of the Tatius I love! Farewell, ye hills of Rome, and Rome that crowns those hills, and farewell, Vesta, whom my sin must put to shame! That horse, whose mane Tatius himself smoothes to the right, that horse will carry back to camp with him my heart! Why marvel that Scylla cut her fathers hair and had her white loins transformed into savage dogs? Why marvel that the horns of a monster were betrayed by his sister, when the twisted path was revealed by the gathering of her thread? What a reproach I shall bring upon the maidens of Italy, a sinful girl chosen to be the servant of the virgin hearth! If any wonder that the fires of Pallas have gone out, let him pardon: her altar is flooded with my tears.
final_alignments\Propertius_Elegies_Book4.json