For lately, as I was singing my Lalage, and wandered beyond
my usual bounds, devoid of care, a wolf in the Sabine wood
fled from me, though I was unarmed: such a monster, as
neither the warlike Apulia nourishes in its extensive woods,
nor the land of Juba, the dry nurse of the lions, produces. Place
me in those barren plains, where no tree is refreshed by the
genial air; at that part of the world, which clouds and an inclement
atmosphere infest. Place me under the chariot of the
too neighbouring sun, in a land deprived of habitations;
there will I love my sweetly-smiling, sweetly-speaking Lalage.
– Horace
*Lalage*
(Christian Asplund & Lara Candland)
Live on Sonarchy
*
