Quotes
But the trumpet with brazen song rang out afar its fearful call; a shout follows and the sky re-echoes.
Chance joins with force to guide the steel.
Valiant of tongue, though his hand was cold for battle.
The hoofs of horses, with a rattling sound,
Beat short and thick, and shake the rotten ground.
Mine is a heart that scorns the light, and believes that the glory that you strive for is cheaply bought with life.
How each man weaves
his web will bring him to glory or to grief.
Dying, he slew; and, staggering on the plain,
With swimming eyes he sought his lover slain;
Then quiet on his bleeding bosom fell,
Content, in death, to be revenged so well.
Hammer away with all your rhetoric.
Jupiter himself upholds two scales in even balance, and lays therein the diverse destinies of both, whom the strife dooms, and with whose weight death sinks down.
The picture of filial love touched his soul.
Thus all are ruled by one passion, to let the sword decide.
Do the gods, Euryalus, put this fire in our hearts, or does his own wild longing become to each man a god?
Why this shameful collapse before it all begins?
Why tremble so before the trumpet blares?
These are not gods who are pressing you so hard; they are mortals pursuing mortals.
Why drift I back so often? What madness turns my purpose?
O mind of man, knowing not fate or coming doom or how to keep bounds when uplifted with favoring fortune!
Turnus, what no god
Would dare to promise you—your heart's desire—
The course of time has of itself brought on.
Such hopes I had indeed, while Heaven was kind.
Camilla's dying hand pulled at the spear,
But the iron point was stuck deep in her ribs.
Drained of blood, she sank back; the chill light
Sank in her eyes; and her face, formerly
So radiant, turned pale in death.
Each is his own hope.
Many an ill has time repaired, and the shifting toil of changing years; many a man has Fortune, fitful visitant, mocked, then once more set up upon firm ground.
There shall come—do not hasten it—a lawful time for battle.
Hail forever, our great Pallas!
Hail forever and farewell!
Youths tall as their native pines and hills.
Our whole house is falling and you are its one support.
And dying, dreams of his sweet Argos.
In deep suspense the Trojan seemed to stand,
And, just prepared to strike, repressed his hand.
He rolled his eyes, and every moment felt
His manly soul with more compassion melt;
When, casting down a casual glance, he spied
The golden belt that glittered on his side,
The fatal spoils which haughty Turnus tore
From dying Pallas, and in triumph wore.
Then, roused anew to wrath, he loudly cries
(Flames, while he spoke, came flashing from his eyes)
"Traitor, dost thou, dost thou to grace pretend,
Clad, as thou art, in trophies of my friend?
To his sad soul a grateful offering go!
'Tis Pallas, Pallas gives this deadly blow."
He raised his arm aloft, and, at the word,
Deep in his bosom drove the shining sword.
Within that single heart surges mighty shame, and madness mingled with grief, and love stung by fury, and the consciousness of worth.
Forever worthy of my great fathers' fame!
Me—here I am, I did it! Turn your blades on me,
Rutulians! The crime's all mine, he never dared,
could never do it! I swear by the skies up there,
the stars, they know it all! All he did was love
his unlucky friend too well!
We first bring our new-born sons to the river, and harden them with the water's cruel cold.
Let me first, I beg, give vent to this madness.
Don't let your corrosive grief
devour you in silence.
Faith in the tale is old, but its fame is everlasting.
But go no further. I forbid you now.
Learn courage from me, my son, true hardship too.
Learn good luck from others.
In vain you have tried your slippery native tricks.
Supreme ruler of gods, pity, I beg,
The Arcadian king, and hear a father's prayer:
If by thy will my son survives, and fate
Spares him, and if I live to see him still,
To meet him yet again, I pray for life;
There is no trouble I cannot endure.
But, Fortune, if you threaten some black day,
Now, now let me break off my bitter life
While all's in doubt, while hope of what's to come
Remains uncertain, while I hold you here,
Dear boy, my late delight, my only one—
And may no graver message ever come
To wound my ears.
First, the sky and the earth and the flowing fields of the sea,
the shining orb of the moon and the Titan sun, the stars:
an inner spirit feeds them, coursing through all their limbs,
mind stirs the mass and their fusion brings the world to birth.
Thinking deeply, and pitying deep in his soul the injustice they suffer.
These gifts at least, these honours I'll bestow
On the dear youth, to please his shade below.
Here is our home, here is our fatherland.
And fired his soul with love of fame that was to be.
By length of time
The scurf is worn away of each committed crime;
No speck is left of their habitual stains,
But the pure ether of the soul remains.
Hapless Theseus sits and evermore shall sit.
Spirits they are, to whom second bodies are owed by Fate, and at the water of Lethe's stream they drink the soothing draught and long forgetfulness.
Fair golden tresses grace the comely train,
And every warrior wears a golden chain.
Embroider'd vests their snowy limbs infold;
And their rich robes are all adorn'd with gold.
Two Alpine spears with martial pride they wield,
And guard their bodies with an ample shield.
p. 34
Hence could be heard the angry growls of lions.
Here a whole crowd came streaming to the banks,
Mothers and men, the forms of life all spent
Of heroes great in valor, boys and girls
Unmarried, and young sons laid on the pyre
Before their parents' eyes.
Tragic Dido,
so, was the story true that came my way?
I heard that you were dead...
you took the final measure with a sword.
Oh, dear god, was it I who caused your death?
I swear by the stars, by the Powers on high, whatever
faith one swears by here in the depths of earth,
I left your shores, my Queen, against my will.
As when, in a bronze basin, the quivering water reflects
A sunbeam or the round of the radiant moon, a light
Goes glancing hither and thither, now shooting up from the water
And jigging upon the fretted ceiling over your head.
All these images on Vulcan's shield
His mother's gift, were wonders to Aeneas
Knowing nothing of the events themselves
He felt joy in their pictures, taking up
Upon his shoulder all the destined acts
And fame of his descendants.
All the rest, once they have turned the wheel of time
for a thousand years: God calls them forth to the Lethe,
great armies of souls, their memories blank so that
they may revisit the overarching world once more
and begin to long to return to bodies yet again.
Condemned to death on a false charge.
He, like an unmoved ocean cliff, resists.
In my hand I bear war and death.
Always collecting
new booty and glad to live off their stealing.
Remember Roman, these will be your arts:
to teach the ways of peace to those you conquer,
to spare defeated peoples, tame the proud.
Full in the midst of this infernal road,
An elm displays her dusky arms abroad;
The god of sleep there hides his heavy head
And empty dreams on every leaf are spread.
Yet love of country shall prevail, and boundless passion for renown.
This one sold his country for gold.
With galloping tramp the horse-hoof shakes the crumbling plain.
Never having trained her woman's hands to Minerva's distaff or basket of wool.
They came to a land of joy, the green pleasaunces and happy seats of the Blissful Groves.
Behold how Marcellus advances, graced with the spoils of the chief he slew, and towers triumphant over all!
And here are troops of men
who had suffered wounds, fighting to save their country,
and those who had been pure priests while still alive,
and the faithful poets whose songs were fit for Phoebus;
those who enriched our lives with the newfound arts they forged
and those we remember well for the good they did mankind.
Cease to dream that heaven's decrees may be turned aside by prayer.
Each of us must suffer his own demanding ghost.
Let men run war and peace: war is their work.
"Seek not to know," the ghost replied with tears,
"The sorrows of thy sons in future years.
This youth (the blissful vision of a day)
Shall just be shown on earth, and snatched away.
The gods too high had raised the Roman state:
Were but their gifts as permanent as great!
What groans of men shall fill the Martian field!
How fierce a blaze his flaming pile shall yield!
What funeral pomp shall floating Tiber see,
When, rising from his bed, he views the sad solemnity!
No youth shall equal hopes of glory give,
No youth afford so great a cause to grieve;
The Trojan honor, and the Roman boast,
Admired when living, and adored when lost!
Mirror of ancient faith in early youth!
Undaunted worth, inviolable truth!
No foe, unpunished, in the fighting field
Shall dare thee, foot to foot, with sword and shield;
Much less in arms oppose thy matchless force,
When thy sharp spurs shall urge thy foaming horse.
Ah! couldst thou break through fate's severe decree,
A new Marcellus shall arise in thee!"
About it hovered peoples and tribes unnumbered; even as when, in the meadows, in cloudless summertime, bees light on many-hued blossoms and stream round lustrous lilies and all the fields murmur with the humming.
Buried deep in sleep,
peaceful, sweet, like the peace of death itself.
No, my boys, no! Don't accustom your spirits to wars of such huge scope,
Don't use your strength and your vigour to disembowel your country!
Lust of the sword rages in him, the accursed frenzy of war.
Now aged, but a god's old age is hardy and green.
Now I will set forth the glory that awaits
The Trojan race, the illustrious souls
Of the Italian heirs to our name.
I will teach you your destiny.
The fresh blood running red on Neptune's fields.
On they went, those dim travelers under the lonely night,
Through gloom and the empty halls of Death's ghostly realm,
like those who walk through woods by a grudging moon's
deceptive light.
A fickle and changeful thing is woman ever.
Alas! by what fates is he vexed! What wars, long endured, did he recount!
There lies my love, there lies my homeland now.
Few in number, but ardent for war.
Rumor, swiftest of all the evils in the world.
She thrives on speed, stronger for every stride,
slight with fear at first, soon soaring into the air
she treads the ground and hides her head in the clouds.
Now hither, now thither he swiftly throws his mind.
His will stands unmoved. The falling tears are futile.
I shall be everywhere
A shade to haunt you!
Goddess born, whither the Fates, in their ebb and flow, draw us, let us follow; whatever befall, all fortune is to be o'ercome by bearing.
You gods, who hold the domain of spirits! You voiceless shades! You, Chaos, and you, Phlegethon, you broad, silent tracts of night! Suffer me to tell what I have heard; suffer me of your grace to unfold secrets buried in the depths and darkness of the earth!
Nowhere is trust safe.
A scream rises to the lofty roof.
More various colours through his body run,
Than Iris when her bow imbibes the sun.
The faith vowed to the ashes of Sychaeus I have not kept.
Arise from my ashes, unknown avenger!
The day is at hand which I shall keep (such, O gods, was your will) ever as a day of grief, ever as of honour.
He stands immovable by tears,
Nor tenderest words with pity hears.
Yield not to ills, but go forth all the bolder to face them as far as your destiny will allow!
Since Fortune's got the upper hand,
let's follow her where she calls and change course.
Deep in her breast lives the silent wound.
She told no one what she saw, not even her sister.
Just let me offer a consolation prize to a luckless man, a friend without a fault.
Wars, horrendous wars,
and the Tiber foaming with tides of blood, I see it all!
Just before the entrance, even within the very jaws of Hell, Grief and avenging Cares have made their bed; there pale Diseases dwell, and sad Age, and Fear, and ill-counselling Famine, and loathly Want, shapes terrible to view; and Death and Distress; next, Death's own brother Sleep.
She calls it a marriage,
using the word to cloak her sense of guilt.
The fatal dart
Sticks in her side, and rankles in her heart.
The partial crowd their hopes and fears divide,
And aid, with eager shouts, the favoured side.
Cries, murmurs, clamours, with a mixing sound,
From woods to woods, from hills to hills rebound.
Hug the shore... let others keep to the deep!
What dreams thrill me with fears?
More lovely virtue, in a lovely form.
She is weary of gazing on the arch of heaven.
Her torments multiply, over and over her passion
surges back into heaving waves of rage.
You're running away—from me? Oh, I pray you
by these tears, by the faith in your right hand—
what else have I left myself in all my pain?—
by our wedding vows, the marriage we began,
if I deserve some decency from you now,
if anything mine has ever won your heart,
pity a great house about to fall, I pray you,
if prayers have any place—reject this scheme of yours!
Do you think that dust or buried shades give heed to that?
Had I not set my face against remarriage
After my first love died and failed me, left me
Barren and bereaved—and sick to death
At the mere thought of torch and bridal bed—
I could perhaps give way in this one case
To frailty.
Come all! See who takes the victory prize, the palm.
You trusted—oh, Palinurus—
far too much to a calm sky and sea.
Your naked corpse will lie on an unknown shore.
None of the trials you tell of, virgin,
is strange or unexpected: all of these
I have foreseen and journeyed in my thought.
I pray that the earth gape deep enough to take me down
or the almighty Father blast me with one bolt to the shades,
the pale, glimmering shades in hell, the pit of night,
before I dishonor you, my conscience, break your laws.
He's carried my love away, the man who wed me first—
may he hold it tight, safeguard it in his grave.
though my mind shudders to remember, and has recoiled in grief, I will begin.
I shake myself from sleep and, climbing to the roof's topmost height, stand with straining ears: even as, when fire falls on a cornfield while south winds are raging, or the rushing torrent from a mountain-stream lays low the fields, lays low the glad crops and labours of oxen and drags down forests headlong, spell-bound the bewildered shepherd hears the roar from a rock's lofty peak.
With that
and with all his might the old man flings his spear—
but too impotent now to pierce, it merely grazes
Pyrrhus' brazen shield that blocks its way
and clings there, dangling limp from the boss,
all for nothing.
Black night hovers around with sheltering shade.
He lacks not much that lacks a grave.
All praised the sentence, pleased the storm should fall
On one alone, whose fury threatened all.
Hear now the treachery of the Greeks and from one learn the wickedness of all.
Purple light of youth.
Arms, my comrades,
bring me arms! The last light calls the defeated.
Send me back to the Greeks, let me go back
to fight new battles. Not all of us here
will die today without revenge.
May the gods—
And surely there are powers that care for goodness,
Surely somewhere justice counts—may they
And your own consciousness of acting well
Reward you as they should.
So come, dear father, climb up onto my shoulders!
I will carry you on my back. This labor of love
will never wear me down. Whatever falls to us now,
we both will share one peril, one path to safety.
Little Iulus, walk beside me, and you, my wife,
follow me at a distance, in my footsteps.
The mad prophetic Sibyl you shall find,
Dark in a cave, and on a rock reclined.
She sings the fates, and, in her frantic fits,
The notes and names inscribed, to leafs commits.
What she commits to leafs, in order laid,
Before the cavern's entrance are displayed:
Unmoved they lie; but, if a blast of wind
Without, or vapors issue from behind,
The leafs are borne aloft in liquid air,
And she resumes no more her museful care,
Nor gathers from the rocks her scattered verse,
Nor sets in order what the winds disperse.
Thus, many not succeeding, most upbraid
The madness of the visionary maid,
And with loud curses leave the mystic shade.
The queen, for her part, all that evening ached
With longing that her heart's blood fed, a wound
Or inward fire eating her away.
Sky on all sides and on all sides sea.
Think it not loss of time a while to stay,
Though thy companions chide thy long delay;
Though summoned to the seas, though pleasing gales
Invite thy course, and stretch thy swelling sails:
But beg the sacred priestess to relate
With willing words, and not to write thy fate.
The fierce Italian people she will show,
And all thy wars, and all thy future woe,
And what thou may'st avoid, and what must undergo.
She shall direct thy course, instruct thy mind,
And teach thee how the happy shores to find.
This is what Heaven allows me to relate:
Now part in peace; pursue thy better fate,
And raise, by strength of arms, the Trojan state.
Heartbreaking things I saw with my own eyes
And was myself a part of.
The wavering crowd is torn into opposing factions.
All things were full of horror and affright,
And dreadful even the silence of the night.
Three times I tried to fling my arms around her neck,
three times I embraced—nothing... her phantom
sifting through my fingers,
light as wind, quick as a dream in flight.
Some trickery lies hidden.
Sometimes the spark of generous fire
Revives in vanquished hearts again.
A monster awful, shapeless, huge, bereft of light.
I was dismayed; my hair stood stiff, my voice held fast within my jaws.
Fortune favours our first effort.
Up to the sky an immense billow hoists us, then at once,
as the wave sank down, down we plunge to the pit of hell.
Meanwhile the sky revolves and night rushes from the ocean.
Hence would he sow dark rumours in the crowd.
New clamors and new clangors now arise,
The sound of trumpets mixed with fighting cries.
To these tears we grant life and pity him besides.
Let us yield to Phoebus and at his warning pursue a better course.
Or had not men been fated to be blind.
His looks, his words, they pierce her heart and cling—
no peace, no rest for her body, love will give her none.
The while he lifts to heaven hideous cries, like the bellowings of a wounded bull that has fled from the altar and shaken from its neck the ill-aimed axe.
His sole pleasure, his only solace in pain...
Everywhere, wrenching grief, everywhere, terror
and a thousand shapes of death.
Rage and wrath drive my soul headlong and I think how glorious it is to die in arms!
How changed he was from that Hector who returns after donning the spoils of Achilles.
Call it cunning or courage; who would ask in war?
O gods, take such a pest away from earth!
Even his children's children and their race that shall be born of them.
So I resigned myself, picked up my father,
And turned my face toward the mountain range.
Alas, it is wrong for man to rely on the gods for anything against their will!
He follows his father, but not with equal steps.
It was the hour when for weary mortals their first rest begins, and by grace of the gods steals over them most sweet.
Live on in your blessings, your destiny's been won!
But ours calls us on from one ordeal to the next.
I dragged on my ruined life in darkness and grief.
If you have no use for humankind and mortal armor,
at least respect the gods. They know right from wrong.
What region of the earth is not full of our calamities?
p. 161
If only Jupiter would give me back
The past years and the man I was...
Many blows he took on land and sea from the gods above—
thanks to cruel Juno's relentless rage—and many losses
he bore in battle too, before he could found a city,
bring his gods to Latium, source of the Latin race,
the Alban lords and the high walls of Rome.
Jove almighty,
nod assent to the daring work I have in hand!
Blessings on your young courage, boy; that's the way to the stars.
I am Aeneas, duty-bound, and known
Above high air of heaven by my fame,
Carrying with me in my ships our gods
Of hearth and home, saved from the enemy.
I look for Italy to be my fatherland,
And my descent is from all-highest Jove.
What race of men is this? What land is so barbarous as to allow this custom?
He said; and feeds his hungry heart
With shapes of unsubstantial art.
Learn fortitude and toil from me, my son,
Ache of true toil. Good fortune learn from others.
Nursing an undying wound deep in her heart.
Through various hazards and events we move.
Unrolling the scroll of fate.
How fortunate, both at once!
If my songs have any power, the day will never dawn
that wipes you from the memory of the ages, not while
the house of Aeneas stands by the Capitol's rock unshaken,
not while the Roman Father rules the world.
Her bright eyes brimming with tears.
Who knows?
Better times may come to those in pain.
She bears a quiver on her shoulder, and as she treads overtops all the goddesses.
So ran the speech. Burdened and sick at heart,
He feigned hope in his look, and inwardly
Contained his anguish.
And with a groan for that indignity
His spirit fled into the gloom below.
Fate will find a way.
The attempts to heal enflame the fever more.
Do the gods light this fire in our hearts
or does each man's mad desire become his god?
Fortune favors the bold.
Tell me, Muse, the causes of her anger. How did he violate the will of the Queen of the Gods? What was his offence? Why did she drive a man famous for his piety to such endless hardship and such suffering? Can there be so much anger in the hearts of the heavenly gods?
For these I set no limits, world or time,
But make the gift of empire without end.
Nor yet had the causes of her wrath, nor her hot resentment, faded from her soul. Deep-written in her heart the judgement of Paris remained, and the outrage to her slighted beauty.
Go no further down the road of hatred.
Severe conditions and the kingdom's youth
Constrain me to these measures, to protect
Our long frontiers with guards.
There is no salvation in war.
Thus to their toils, in early summer, run
The clust'ring bees, and labour in the sun;
Led forth, in colonies, their buzzing race,
Or work the liquid sweets, and thicken to a mass.
The busy nation flies from flow'r to flow'r,
And hoards, in curious cells, the golden store;
A chosen troop before the gate attends,
To take the burdens, and relieve their friends;
Warm at the fragrant work, in bands, they drive
The drone, a lazy robber, from the hive.
Euryalus
In death went reeling down,
And blood streamed on his handsome length, his neck
Collapsing let his head fall on his shoulder—
As a bright flower cut by a passing plow
Will droop and wither slowly, or a poppy
Bow its head upon its tired stalk
When overborne by a passing rain.
Loyal Achates bore the weapons.
Is it then so sad a thing to die?
Rage finds them arms.
But then, if they chance to see a man among them,
whose devotion and public service lend him weight,
they stand there, stock-still with their ears alert as
he rules their furor with his words and calms their passion.
I sing of arms and of a man: his fate
had made him fugitive; he was the first
to journey from the coasts of Troy as far
as Italy and the Lavinian shores.
p. 28
Every man's last day is fixed.
Lifetimes are brief and not to be regained,
For all mankind. But by their deeds to make
Their fame last: that is labor for the brave.
Trojan and Tyrian I shall treat with no distinction.
I cannot bear a mother's tears.
Each one his own hope.
She spoke, and as she turned away, her roseate neck flashed bright. From her head her ambrosial tresses breathed celestial fragrance; down to her feet fell her raiment, and in her step she was revealed a very goddess.
An awful misshapen monster, huge, his eyelight lost.
Fear is the proof of a degenerate mind.
There are twin Gates of Sleep.
One, they say, is called the Gate of Horn
and it offers easy passage to all true shades.
The other glistens with ivory, radiant, flawless,
but through it the dead send false dreams up toward the sky.
Each of us bears his own Hell.
Now, Aeneas, is the hour for courage, now for a dauntless heart!
Be warned; learn ye to be just and not to slight the gods!
Fickle and changeable always is woman.
Yield not to misfortunes, but advance all the more boldly against them.
Cease to think that the decrees of the gods can be changed by prayers.
I feel once more the scars of the old flame.
It is come—the last day and inevitable hour for Troy.
A greater history opens before my eyes,
A greater task awaits me.
Do not trust the horse, Trojans.
Whatever it is, I fear the Greeks even when they bring gifts.
There all stood begging to be first across
And reached out longing hands to the far shore.
They can because they think they can.
Prepared for either alternative.
Wrapping truth in darkness.
Let someone arise from my bones as an Avenger.
Roman, remember by your strength to rule
Earth's people—for your arts are to be these:
To pacify, to impose the rule of law,
To spare the conquered, battle down the proud.
The gates of hell are open night and day;
Smooth the descent, and easy is the way:
But to return, and view the cheerful skies,
In this the task and mighty labor lies.
I shall never deny what you deserve, my queen,
never regret my memories of Dido, not while I
can recall myself and draw the breath of life.
Nay, had I a hundred tongues, a hundred mouths, and voice of iron, I could not sum up all the forms of crime, or rehearse all the tale of torments.
What a woman can do in frenzy.
How changed from what he once was!
Fear gave wings to his feet.
I wait with listening ears.
Obscure they went through dreary shades, that led
Along the waste dominions of the dead.
Give lilies with full hands.
I have lived
and journeyed through the course assigned by fortune.
And now my Shade will pass, illustrious,
beneath the earth.
Amid the friendly silence of the peaceful moon.
They who bettered life on earth by new-found mastery.
Who could tell such things and still refrain from tears?
This man sold his country for gold.
"I shall die unavenged, but I shall die,"
she says. "Thus, thus, I gladly go below
to shadows."
Sorrow too deep to tell, your majesty,
You order me to feel and tell once more.
I sail for Italy not of my own free will.
The only hope for the doomed is no hope at all.
Ye realms, yet unrevealed to human sight,
Ye gods who rule the regions of the night,
Ye gliding ghosts, permit me to relate
The mystic wonders of your silent state!
Rumor, swiftest of all the evils in the world.
Can such resentment hold the minds of gods?
I sing of arms and a man.
Your honor, your name, your praise will live forever.
No stranger to trouble myself I am learning to care for the unhappy.
p. 793
Endure, and keep yourselves for days of happiness.
Even here, merit will have its true reward...
even here, the world is a world of tears
and the burdens of mortality touch the heart.
So hard and huge a task it was to found the Roman people.
Some day, perhaps, remembering even this
Will be a pleasure.
Friends and companions,
Have we not known hard hours before this?
My men, who have endured still greater dangers,
God will grant us an end to these as well.
Here and there are seen swimmers in the vast abyss.
The leader of the enterprise a woman.
Following what is decreed by fate.
Aeneid, trans. Frederick Ahl (Oxford World's Classics, 2008),
Vivendo vici mea fata.
The Aeneid, trans. John Dryden (1697)
Ne qua meis esto dictis mora.
Virgil: Aeneid VII–XXI, The Minor Poems, trans. H. R. Fairclough (W. Heinemann, 1918)
The Aeneid, trans. Cecil Day Lewis (Oxford University Press, 1986),
Audentis fortuna iuvat.
The Aeneid, trans. Robert Fitzgerald (Random House, 1983),
The Aeneid, trans. David West (Penguin Classics, 1995),
Aeneid, trans. Stanley Lombardo (Hackett Publishing, 2005),
The Æneids of Virgil, trans. William Morris (1876)
Sit Romana potens Itala virtute propago.
The Aeneid of Virgil, trans. Allen Mandelbaum (Random House, 2003),
Virgil: Eclogues, Georgics, Aeneid I–VI, trans. H. R. Fairclough (W. Heinemann, 1918)
Vergil's Aeneid, trans. Levi Robert Lind (Indiana University Press, 1963),
Macte nova virtute, puer, sic itur .
Nunc ipsa vocat res.
Hac iter est.
The Æneid of Virgil, trans. John Conington (1870)
The Aeneid of Virgil, trans. John William Mackail (Macmillan, 1920)
The Æneid of Virgil, trans. Christopher Pitt (1740)
The Aeneid, trans. Robert Fagles (Penguin, 2006),
Primo avulso non deficit alter.
Mitte hanc de pectore curam.
Vocat in certamina divos.
Hic locus est, partes ubi se via findit in ambas.
Pacemne huc fertis an arma?
Nec tibi diva parens.
Pendent opera interrupta.
Nec famam obstare furori.
Campos ubi Troja fuit.
Flectere si nequeo superos, Acheronta movebo.
Impar congressus Achilli.
Longa est injuria, longae
ambages.
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Forsan et haec olim meminisse iuvabit.
Mens sibi conscia recti.
Bella, horrida bella.
Consanguineus Leti Sopor.
Superanda omnis fortuna ferendo est.
Procul, O procul este, profani!
Furor arma ministrat.
Quid non mortalia pectora cogis,
Auri sacra fames?
Quis fallere possit amantem?
O terque quaterque beati!
Improbe Amor, quid non mortalia pectora cogis!
That’s all the quotes.
298 quotes in the collection · come back when we add more