The Aeneid of Virgil

This verse translation of Virgil's Aeneid by Allen Mandelbaum(Bantam Classics) does more justice to the original text than those by other translators for different publications. Price wise...it's value for money!!!

"I sing of arms and of a man: his fate | had made him fugitive..." The Aeneid is a classic of world literature, and this splendid verse translation brings it really to life. The poem is about Aeneas' destiny: he must found a mighty city whose fruit will be the Roman empire, and undergo many trials before he can do so. There is also a powerful undercurrent of grief throughout the poem: many lives, including a number of those dear to Aeneas, will be lost. As the Sibyl (possessed by a god) warns him: "I see wars, horrid wars, the Tiber foaming | With much blood."

This epic composed by Edward Fairfax Taylor (inspired by the original Latin source material by Virgil) is an unknown unrecognized masterpiece. This I have now concluded is the true English-language Aeneid and should be credited as such. Before I would have always avowed that it was Dryden's version, and I tried to love it while reading through it various times. But I had a hard time feeling that Virgil really sat up there with the language of Shakespeare when his work was presented that way. Dryden's telling so often uses such short sentences and simple words, and in places, while it is fine, it seems overly simplified with a lot of key lines and information from the original Latin epic not fully included. Many of the popular English translations of the Aeneid nowadays strive to be readable, relevant as colloquial prose but contain hardly any majestic sweep as when Virgil wrote in Latin. I do not understand why this version is not better known, and even on the internet there are barely any reviews or acknowledgement of its existence. Its words roll elegantly off the page and flowingly off the tongue as an epic story. The grand sway of lofty paragraphs unleash an epic to be taken seriously. This is what should always be quoted as the Aeneid when it is quoted in English. Here we may experience what it was like to receive the Aeneid as though we were the original audience. The Romans were able to experience reading the Homeric epics in Greek or in translations, but they did not have their own national epic in their own language. But along comes Virgil. If, with any such work, we can immerse ourselves into this world, we must suspend our disbelief and imagine that the language of Spenser, Milton, and Shelley is the language that "we" are speaking in ancient Rome. A heroic epic from the Trojan War has now been made ours and written in our language! Virgil was using what was even for them ancient mythology and religion to create new imperialistic propaganda to celebrate the new Caesarian dynasty. But we can still appreciate this work for what it is today even without believing in it, just as you can appreciate Paradise Lost if you don't believe in Puritanical Christianity. I am so glad I discovered this almost by accident from the internet almost a year ago and I am voicing my appreciation for Lector House Publishing for keeping this wonderful volume in print. It is presented very nicely in an attractive paperback and I love owning this hard copy as well. Here are some of the famous quotes from the Aeneid as composed by Edward Fairfax Taylor: Of arms I sing, and of the man . . . So huge, so hard the task to found the Roman state. Black night broods on the waters; all around From pole to pole the rattling peals resound And frequent flashes light the lurid air. Thrice, four times blest, who, in their fathers' face Fell by the walls of Ilion far away! Rage finds them arms Comrades! of ills not ignorant; far more Than these ye suffered, and to these as well Will Jove give ending, as he gave before. hereafter, it may be These too will yield a pleasant tale to tell. Through shifting hazards, by the Fates' decree, To Latin shores we steer He spake, and heart-sick with a load of care, Suppressed his grief, and feigned a cheerful air. Thou yet shalt see Lavinium's walls arise, And bear thy brave Æneas to the skies. To these no period nor appointed date, Nor bounds to their dominion I assign; An endless empire shall the race await. But hence, where leads the path, thy forward steps pursue. And by her walk the goddess shone complete "Even here Worth wins her due, and there are tears to flow, And human hearts to feel for human woe. Fear not," he cries, "Troy's glory yet shall gain Some safety." We, Troy's poor fugitives, implore thy grace, Storm-tost and wandering over every main Not unskilled In woe, I learn to succour the distrest. The noise of festival Rings through the spacious courts, and rolls along the hall. There, blazing from the gilded roof, are seen Bright lamps, and torches turn the night to day. What causes make the winter nights so long, Why sinks the sun so quickly in the main? The woes I saw, thrice piteous to behold, And largely shared. Some with wonder and dismay The maid Minerva's fatal gift survey. I fear the Greeks, for all the gifts they bear. I mused indignant on his fate, And dragged my days in solitude and woe, Nor in my madness kept my purpose low, Poor souls! with festive garlands deck each fane, And through the town in revelry employ The day decreed our last, the dying hours of Troy! And now the heaven rolled round. From ocean rushed The Night, and wrapt in shadow earth and air And Myrmidonian wiles. Madly I rush to arms; though vain the fight, Yet burns my soul, in fury and despair, To rally a handful and to hold the height: Sweet seems a warrior's death and danger a delight. Troy was, and we were Trojans, now, alas! No more, for perished is the Dardan fame. Fierce Jove to Argos biddeth all to pass, And Danaans rule a city wrapt in flame. My spirit stirred with impulse from on high, I rush to arms amid the flames and fight, Where yells the war-fiend and the warrior's cry, Mixt with the din of strife, mounts upward to the sky. Troy's guardian gods have left her; altar, fane, All is deserted, every temple bare. The town ye aid is burning. Forward, then, To die and mingle in the tumult's blare. Sole hope to vanquished men of safety is despair. Then fury spurred their courage, and behold, As ravening wolves, when darkness hides the day, Stung with mad fire of famine uncontrolled, Prowl from their dens, and leave the whelps to stay, With jaws athirst and gaping for the prey. So to sure death, amid the darkness there, Where swords, and spears, and foemen bar the way, Into the centre of the town we fare. Night with her shadowy cone broods o'er the vaulted air. O son, what mean These transports? Say, what bitter grief doth move Thy soul to rage untamed? Where vanished is thy love? Quick, father, mount my shoulders; let us go. That toil shall never tire me. Come whatso The Fates shall bring us, both alike shall share One common welfare or one common woe. On we stride Through shadowy ways; and I who rushing spear And thronging foes but lately had defied, Now fear each sound, each whisper of the air, Trembling for him I lead, and for the charge I bear. So mused I, blind with anger . . . . What power I know not, but some power unkind Confused my wandering wits, and robbed me of my mind. Curst greed of gold, what crimes thy tyrant power attest! 'Twas night; on earth all creatures were asleep: Long since a prey to passion's torturing pains, The Queen was wasting with the secret flame, The cruel wound was feeding on her veins. But he—how oft by danger sore bestead, What warlike exploits did his lips retrace. I know the traces of the long-quenched flame; Blind seers, alas! what art To calm her frenzy, now hath vow or shrine? Deep in her marrow feeds the tender smart, Unseen, the silent wound is festering in her heart. Poor Dido burns with love, her blood is turned to fire. Fame with the news through Libya's cities hies, Fame [Rumor], far the swiftest of all mischiefs bred; Speed gives her force; she strengthens as she flies. Small first through fear, she lifts a loftier head, Her forehead in the clouds, on earth her tread. Swift-winged, swift-footed, of enormous girth, Huge, horrible, deformed, a giantess from birth. As many feathers as her form surround, Strange sight! peep forth so many watchful eyes, So many mouths and tattling tongues resound, So many ears among the plumes uprise. By night with shrieks 'twixt heaven and earth she flies, Nor suffers sleep her eyelids to subdue; By day, the terror of great towns, she spies From towers and housetops, perched aloft in view, Fond of the false and foul, yet herald of the true. So now, exulting, with a mingled hum Of truth and falsehood, through the crowd she sped. May Heaven—if Heaven be righteous—make thee pay Thy forfeit, left on ocean's rocks to pray For help to Dido. There shall Dido go With sulphurous flames, and vex thee far away. My ghost in death shall haunt thee. I shall know Thy punishment, false wretch, and hail the news below." The pious Prince, though fain With gentle words her anguish to ally, Sighing full sore, and racked with inward pain, Bows to the God's behest, and hastens to the main. What, hapless Dido, were thy feelings then? . . . . O tyrant love, so potent to subdue! Again, perforce, she weeps for him; again She stoops to try persuasion, and to sue, And yields, a suppliant, to her love's sweet pain, Lest aught remain untried Changeful is woman's mood, and varying with the day. Them and their children's children evermore Ye Tyrians, with immortal hate outwear. This gift—'twill please me best—for Dido's shade prepare. This heritage be yours; no truce nor trust 'Twixt theirs and ours, no union or accord Arise, unknown Avenger from our dust; With fire and steel upon the Dardan horde Mete out the measure of their crimes' reward. To-day, to-morrow, for eternity Dear relics! loved while Fate and Jove were kind, Receive this soul, and free me from my woe. My life is lived; behold, the course assigned By Fortune now is finished, and I go . . . as they dare, They do; the thought of winning wins the game. He mourned for Palinurus. "Ah," he cried, "For faith reposed on flattering sea and sky, Left on an unknown shore, thy naked corpse must lie!" Fame is, that Dædalus, adventuring forth On rapid wings, from Minos' realms in flight, Trusted the sky, and to the frosty North Swam his strange way, till on the tower-girt height Of Chalcis gently he essayed to light. There, toil-wrought house and labyrinthine grove, With tangled maze, too intricate to tread, Yield not to evils, but the bolder thou Persist, defiant of misfortune's frown, And take the path thy Destinies allow. Down to Avernus the descent is light, The gate of Dis stands open day and night. But upward thence thy journey to retrace, There lies the labour; 'tis a task of might, By few achieved, and those of heavenly race, Whom shining worth extolled or Jove hath deigned to grace. O silent Shades, and ye, the powers of Hell, Chaos and Phlegethon, wide realms of night, What ear hath heard, permit the tongue to tell, High matter, veiled in darkness, to indite.— On through the gloomy shade, in darkling plight, Through Pluto's solitary halls they stray, As travellers, whom the Moon's unkindly light Baffles in woods, when, on a lonely way, Jove shrouds the heavens, and night has turned the world to grey. On through the gloomy shade, in darkling plight, Through Pluto's solitary halls they stray, As travellers, whom the Moon's unkindly light Baffles in woods, when, on a lonely way, Jove shrouds the heavens, and night has turned the world to grey. Death's kinsman, Sleep and o'er his cheeks apace Rolled down soft tears, of sadness and delight. Thrice he essayed the phantom to embrace; Thrice, vainly clasped, it melted from his sight, Swift as the wingèd wind, or vision of the night. One mind, infused through every part, sustains; One universal, animating soul Quickens, unites and mingles with the whole. And fiery energy divine they share, Save what corruption clogs, and earthly limbs impair. Hence Fear and Sorrow, hence Desire and Mirth; Nor can the soul, in darkness and in chains, Assert the skies, and claim celestial birth. We suffer each Our ghostly penance Others, no doubt, from breathing bronze shall draw More softness, and a living face devise From marble, plead their causes at the law More deftly, trace the motions of the skies With learned rod, and tell the stars that rise. Thou, Roman, rule, and o'er the world proclaim The ways of peace. Be these thy victories, To spare the vanquished and the proud to tame. These are imperial arts, and worthy of thy name. A larger theme unfolds, and loftier is the lay. And Hell shall hear, if Heaven its aid deny. Ho! Latin mothers all, where'er ye be, Here, if ye love me, if a mother's plea Deserve your pity, let your hair be seen Loosed from the fillets, and be mad, like me. Leave peace and war to men, whose business is to fight. Aid ye, for ye are goddesses, and clear Can ye remember, and the tale unfold. But faint and feeble is the voice we hear, A slender breath of Fame, that falters on the ear. strong arms are ours to-day, Stout hearts, and manhood proved in many a hard essay. Dare thou to quit thee like the god, nor dread To scorn mere wealth, nor humble cheer disdain. Is it that the Gods inspire, Euryalus, this fever of the breast? Or make we gods of but a wild desire? No length of time shall make your memory wane. Bless, Jove omnipotent, this bold design: Aid me, and yearly offerings shall be thine. Hail to thy maiden prowess; yonder lies Thy path, brave boy, to glory and the skies. each alike this day Must carve his hopes and fortune as he may. Fate, blindness, crooked counsels—whatso'er Holds Troy in leaguer, equally I weigh The chance of all, nor would Rutulians spare. For each must toil and try, till Fate the doom declare." 199, 140 Fair Fortune aids the bold! Each hath his day; irreparably brief Is mortal life, and fading as the leaf. 'Tis valour's part to bid it bloom anew By deeds of fame. I heed not death nor deities, not I; Forbear thy taunting; I am here to die, But send this gift to greet thee, ere I go. Poor boy; hath Fortune, in her hour of pride, To me thy triumph and return denied? This niche of fame,—'tis all the Fates bestow— Awaits thee still. For me, all life's desire— 'Twere vain—hath fled; but gladly would I go, And bear the welcome news to Pallas' shade below." till dewy night on high Rolls round the circling heavens, and starlight gilds the sky. Still dwells thy War-God in a windy tongue, And flying feet, and knees all feeble and unstrung? His mouth all bloody, as he roars with pain, So Turnus blazed with wrath, as thus in scornful strain O sister, let me vent this fury, while I may.

MEET THE EXPECTATION

I took AP Latin: Vergil Junior year and had to read this book before I got to class. I thought that it was going to be extremely boring and dry. I was surprised. Mandelbaum makes the book more than tolerable, dare I say somewhat enjoyable. He's probably more colloquial than most of the other translations, which helps when you're trying to remember precise details of the plot from how Troy's Priam and his family die, to the treacherous journey of Aeneas across foreign lands. It's not going to be good for translating since it's not exactly direct word for word, but if you want to understand the book, this is the translation to get.