He who is whole in life and unblemished by crime
has need not for Moorish javelins nor a bow
nor a quiver full of poisonous
arrows, Fuscus,
whether a journey will be made through
sweltering Syrtes or through inhospitable
Caucasus or the regions which legendary
Hydaspes washes.
For a wolf in a Sabine wood,
while I was singing of my Lalage and
wandering care-free beyond my boundaries,
fled me unarmed.
It was a kind of monster neither martial
Daunia has fed with her vast forests
nor the land of Juba has produced, that dry
lions' nurse.
Place me on a barren plain where no
tree is refreshed by summer breezes,
a part of the world which gloomy weather
presses with fog;
place me under the chariot of the sun approaching
too closely in a land forbidding houses:
I will love my Lalage, laughing sweetly,
talking sweetly.
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integer vitae scelerisque purus
non eget Mauris iaculis neque arcu
nec venenatis gravida sagittis,
Fusce, pharetra,
sive per Syrtis iter aestuosas
sive facturus per inhospitalem
Caucasum vel quae loca fabulosas
lambit Hydaspes.
namque me silva lupus in Sabina,
dum meam canto Lalagen et ultra
terminum curis vagor expeditis,
fugit inermem,
quale portentum neque militaris
Daunias latis alit aesculetis
nec Iubae tellus generat, leonum
arida nutrix.
pone me pigris ubi nulla campis
arbor aestiva recreatur aura,
quod latus mundi nebulae malusque
Iuppiter urget;
pone sub curru nimium propinqui
solis in terra domibus negata:
dulce ridentem Lalagen amabo
dulce loquentem
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