Complete Works of Virgil

by Virgil

  The Complete Works of

  VIRGIL

  (70 BC–19 BC)

  Contents

  The Translations

  THE ECLOGUES

  THE ECLOGUES – Greenough’s Translation

  THE GEORGICS

  THE GEORGICS – Greenough’s Translation

  THE AENEID

  ENEADOS – Douglas’ Translation

  THE AENEID – Dryden’s Translation

  THE AENEID – Morris’ Translation

  THE AENEID – Williams’ Translation

  THE AENEID – Mackail’s Translation

  THE AENEID – Taylor’s Translation

  The Latin Texts

  LIST OF LATIN TEXTS

  The Dual Text

  DUAL LATIN AND ENGLISH TEXT

  The Biographies

  LIFE OF VIRGIL by H. R. Fairclough

  LIFE AND PERSONAL CHARACTERISTICS OF VIRGIL by W. Y. Sellar

  © Delphi Classics 2014

  Version 2

  The Complete Works of

  VIRGIL

  By Delphi Classics, 2014

  The Translations

  Mantua, northern Italy, close to the village Andes — Virgil’s birthplace

  A bust of Virgil, from the entrance to his tomb in Naples

  THE ECLOGUES

  The Eclogues were Virgil’s first poetic works. Imitating Greek Bucolic poetry by Theocritus, Virgil created his own Roman version of the literary form. The poems represent a dramatic and mythic interpretation of revolutionary change at Rome in the turbulent period from 44 to 38 BC. Virgil’s first book contains ten poems, each called an eclogue (meaning draft or selection), featuring herdsmen conversing and singing in rural settings. These works were performed with great success on the Roman stage, providing a blend of visionary politics and eroticism, which helped to make Virgil an instant literary success.

  Et in Arcadia ego by Nicolas Poussin, whose Arcadian paintings were inspired by Virgil’s Eclogues

  THE ECLOGUES – Greenough’s Translation

  J. B. Greenough, an American classicist, published this much respected translation of The Eclogues in 1900.

  A page from the Eclogues in the 5th-century Vergilius Romanus

  CONTENTS

  ECLOGUE I

  ECLOGUE II

  ECLOGUE III

  ECLOGUE IV

  ECLOGUE V

  ECLOGUE VI

  ECLOGUE VII

  ECLOGUE VIII

  ECLOGUE IX

  ECLOGUE X

  ECLOGUE I

  MELIBOEUS TITYRUS

  MELIBOEUS

  You, Tityrus, ‘neath a broad beech-canopy

  Reclining, on the slender oat rehearse

  Your silvan ditties: I from my sweet fields,

  And home’s familiar bounds, even now depart.

  Exiled from home am I; while, Tityrus, you

  Sit careless in the shade, and, at your call,

  “Fair Amaryllis” bid the woods resound.

  TITYRUS

  O Meliboeus, ’twas a god vouchsafed

  This ease to us, for him a god will I

  Deem ever, and from my folds a tender lamb

  Oft with its life-blood shall his altar stain.

  His gift it is that, as your eyes may see,

  My kine may roam at large, and I myself

  Play on my shepherd’s pipe what songs I will.

  MELIBOEUS

  I grudge you not the boon, but marvel more,

  Such wide confusion fills the country-side.

  See, sick at heart I drive my she-goats on,

  And this one, O my Tityrus, scarce can lead:

  For ‘mid the hazel-thicket here but now

  She dropped her new-yeaned twins on the bare flint,

  Hope of the flock- an ill, I mind me well,

  Which many a time, but for my blinded sense,

  The thunder-stricken oak foretold, oft too

  From hollow trunk the raven’s ominous cry.

  But who this god of yours? Come, Tityrus, tell.

  TITYRUS

  The city, Meliboeus, they call Rome,

  I, simpleton, deemed like this town of ours,

  Whereto we shepherds oft are wont to drive

  The younglings of the flock: so too I knew

  Whelps to resemble dogs, and kids their dams,

  Comparing small with great; but this as far

  Above all other cities rears her head

  As cypress above pliant osier towers.

  MELIBOEUS

  And what so potent cause took you to Rome?

  TITYRUS

  Freedom, which, though belated, cast at length

  Her eyes upon the sluggard, when my beard

  ‘Gan whiter fall beneath the barber’s blade-

  Cast eyes, I say, and, though long tarrying, came,

  Now when, from Galatea’s yoke released,

  I serve but Amaryllis: for I will own,

  While Galatea reigned over me, I had

  No hope of freedom, and no thought to save.

  Though many a victim from my folds went forth,

  Or rich cheese pressed for the unthankful town,

  Never with laden hands returned I home.

  MELIBOEUS

  I used to wonder, Amaryllis, why

  You cried to heaven so sadly, and for whom

  You left the apples hanging on the trees;

  ’Twas Tityrus was away. Why, Tityrus,

  The very pines, the very water-springs,

  The very vineyards, cried aloud for you.

  TITYRUS

  What could I do? how else from bonds be freed,

  Or otherwhere find gods so nigh to aid?

  There, Meliboeus, I saw that youth to whom

  Yearly for twice six days my altars smoke.

  There instant answer gave he to my suit,

  “Feed, as before, your kine, boys, rear your bulls.”

  MELIBOEUS

  So in old age, you happy man, your fields

  Will still be yours, and ample for your need!

  Though, with bare stones o’erspread, the pastures all

  Be choked with rushy mire, your ewes with young

  By no strange fodder will be tried, nor hurt

  Through taint contagious of a neighbouring flock.

  Happy old man, who ‘mid familiar streams

  And hallowed springs, will court the cooling shade!

  Here, as of old, your neighbour’s bordering hedge,

  That feasts with willow-flower the Hybla bees,

  Shall oft with gentle murmur lull to sleep,

  While the leaf-dresser beneath some tall rock

  Uplifts his song, nor cease their cooings hoarse

  The wood-pigeons that are your heart’s delight,

  Nor doves their moaning in the elm-tree top.

  TITYRUS

  Sooner shall light stags, therefore, feed in air,

  The seas their fish leave naked on the strand,

  Germans and Parthians shift their natural bounds,

  And these the Arar, those the Tigris drink,

  Than from my heart his face and memory fade.

  MELIBOEUS

  But we far hence, to burning Libya some,

  Some to the Scythian steppes, or thy swift flood,

  Cretan Oaxes, now must wend our way,

  Or Britain, from the whole world sundered far.

  Ah! shall I ever in aftertime behold

  My native bounds- see many a harvest hence

  With ravished eyes the lowly turf-roofed cot

  Where I was king? These fallows, trimmed so fair,

  Some brutal soldier will possess these fields

  An alien master. Ah! to what a pass />
  Has civil discord brought our hapless folk!

  For such as these, then, were our furrows sown!

  Now, Meliboeus, graft your pears, now set

  Your vines in order! Go, once happy flock,

  My she-goats, go. Never again shall I,

  Stretched in green cave, behold you from afar

  Hang from the bushy rock; my songs are sung;

  Never again will you, with me to tend,

  On clover-flower, or bitter willows, browse.

  TITYRUS

  Yet here, this night, you might repose with me,

  On green leaves pillowed: apples ripe have I,

  Soft chestnuts, and of curdled milk enow.

  And, see, the farm-roof chimneys smoke afar,

  And from the hills the shadows lengthening fall!

  ECLOGUE II

  ALEXIS

  The shepherd Corydon with love was fired

  For fair Alexis, his own master’s joy:

  No room for hope had he, yet, none the less,

  The thick-leaved shadowy-soaring beech-tree grove

  Still would he haunt, and there alone, as thus,

  To woods and hills pour forth his artless strains.

  “Cruel Alexis, heed you naught my songs?

  Have you no pity? you’ll drive me to my death.

  Now even the cattle court the cooling shade

  And the green lizard hides him in the thorn:

  Now for tired mowers, with the fierce heat spent,

  Pounds Thestilis her mess of savoury herbs,

  Wild thyme and garlic. I, with none beside,

  Save hoarse cicalas shrilling through the brake,

  Still track your footprints ‘neath the broiling sun.

  Better have borne the petulant proud disdain

  Of Amaryllis, or Menalcas wooed,

  Albeit he was so dark, and you so fair!

  Trust not too much to colour, beauteous boy;

  White privets fall, dark hyacinths are culled.

  You scorn me, Alexis, who or what I am

  Care not to ask- how rich in flocks, or how

  In snow-white milk abounding: yet for me

  Roam on Sicilian hills a thousand lambs;

  Summer or winter, still my milk-pails brim.

  I sing as erst Amphion of Circe sang,

  What time he went to call his cattle home

  On Attic Aracynthus. Nor am I

  So ill to look on: lately on the beach

  I saw myself, when winds had stilled the sea,

  And, if that mirror lie not, would not fear

  Daphnis to challenge, though yourself were judge.

  Ah! were you but content with me to dwell.

  Some lowly cot in the rough fields our home,

  Shoot down the stags, or with green osier-wand

  Round up the straggling flock! There you with me

  In silvan strains will learn to rival Pan.

  Pan first with wax taught reed with reed to join;

  For sheep alike and shepherd Pan hath care.

  Nor with the reed’s edge fear you to make rough

  Your dainty lip; such arts as these to learn

  What did Amyntas do?- what did he not?

  A pipe have I, of hemlock-stalks compact

  In lessening lengths, Damoetas’ dying-gift:

  ‘Mine once,’ quoth he, ‘now yours, as heir to own.’

  Foolish Amyntas heard and envied me.

  Ay, and two fawns, I risked my neck to find

  In a steep glen, with coats white-dappled still,

  From a sheep’s udders suckled twice a day-

  These still I keep for you; which Thestilis

  Implores me oft to let her lead away;

  And she shall have them, since my gifts you spurn.

  Come hither, beauteous boy; for you the Nymphs

  Bring baskets, see, with lilies brimmed; for you,

  Plucking pale violets and poppy-heads,

  Now the fair Naiad, of narcissus flower

  And fragrant fennel, doth one posy twine-

  With cassia then, and other scented herbs,

  Blends them, and sets the tender hyacinth off

  With yellow marigold. I too will pick

  Quinces all silvered-o’er with hoary down,

  Chestnuts, which Amaryllis wont to love,

  And waxen plums withal: this fruit no less

  Shall have its meed of honour; and I will pluck

  You too, ye laurels, and you, ye myrtles, near,

  For so your sweets ye mingle. Corydon,

  You are a boor, nor heeds a whit your gifts

  Alexis; no, nor would Iollas yield,

  Should gifts decide the day. Alack! alack!

  What misery have I brought upon my head!-

  Loosed on the flowers Siroces to my bane,

  And the wild boar upon my crystal springs!

  Whom do you fly, infatuate? gods ere now,

  And Dardan Paris, have made the woods their home.

  Let Pallas keep the towers her hand hath built,

  Us before all things let the woods delight.

  The grim-eyed lioness pursues the wolf,

  The wolf the she-goat, the she-goat herself

  In wanton sport the flowering cytisus,

  And Corydon Alexis, each led on

  By their own longing. See, the ox comes home

  With plough up-tilted, and the shadows grow

  To twice their length with the departing sun,

  Yet me love burns, for who can limit love?

  Ah! Corydon, Corydon, what hath crazed your wit?

  Your vine half-pruned hangs on the leafy elm;

  Why haste you not to weave what need requires

  Of pliant rush or osier? Scorned by this,

  Elsewhere some new Alexis you will find.”

  ECLOGUE III

  MENALCAS DAMOETAS PALAEMON

  MENALCAS

  Who owns the flock, Damoetas? Meliboeus?

  DAMOETAS

  Nay, they are Aegon’s sheep, of late by him

  Committed to my care.

  MENALCAS

  O every way

  Unhappy sheep, unhappy flock! while he

  Still courts Neaera, fearing lest her choice

  Should fall on me, this hireling shepherd here

  Wrings hourly twice their udders, from the flock

  Filching the life-juice, from the lambs their milk.

  DAMOETAS

  Hold! not so ready with your jeers at men!

  We know who once, and in what shrine with you-

  The he-goats looked aside- the light nymphs laughed-

  MENALCAS

  Ay, then, I warrant, when they saw me slash

  Micon’s young vines and trees with spiteful hook.

  DAMOETAS

  Or here by these old beeches, when you broke

  The bow and arrows of Damon; for you chafed

  When first you saw them given to the boy,

  Cross-grained Menalcas, ay, and had you not

  Done him some mischief, would have chafed to death.

  MENALCAS

  With thieves so daring, what can masters do?

  Did I not see you, rogue, in ambush lie

  For Damon’s goat, while loud Lycisca barked?

  And when I cried, “Where is he off to now?

  Gather your flock together, Tityrus,”

  You hid behind the sedges.

  DAMOETAS

  Well, was he

  Whom I had conquered still to keep the goat.

  Which in the piping-match my pipe had won!

  You may not know it, but the goat was mine.

  MENALCAS

  You out-pipe him? when had you ever pipe

  Wax-welded? in the cross-ways used you not

  On grating straw some miserable tune

  To mangle?

  DAMOETAS

  Well, then, shall we try our skill

  Each against each in tur
n? Lest you be loth,

  I pledge this heifer; every day she comes

  Twice to the milking-pail, and feeds withal

  Two young ones at her udder: say you now

  What you will stake upon the match with me.

  MENALCAS

  Naught from the flock I’ll venture, for at home

  I have a father and a step-dame harsh,

  And twice a day both reckon up the flock,

  And one withal the kids. But I will stake,

  Seeing you are so mad, what you yourself

  Will own more priceless far- two beechen cups

  By the divine art of Alcimedon

  Wrought and embossed, whereon a limber vine,

  Wreathed round them by the graver’s facile tool,

  Twines over clustering ivy-berries pale.

  Two figures, one Conon, in the midst he set,

  And one- how call you him, who with his wand

  Marked out for all men the whole round of heaven,

  That they who reap, or stoop behind the plough,

  Might know their several seasons? Nor as yet

  Have I set lip to them, but lay them by.

  DAMOETAS

  For me too wrought the same Alcimedon

  A pair of cups, and round the handles wreathed

  Pliant acanthus, Orpheus in the midst,

  The forests following in his wake; nor yet

  Have I set lip to them, but lay them by.

  Matched with a heifer, who would prate of cups?

  MENALCAS

  You shall not balk me now; where’er you bid,

  I shall be with you; only let us have

  For auditor- or see, to serve our turn,

  Yonder Palaemon comes! In singing-bouts

  I’ll see you play the challenger no more.

  DAMOETAS

  Out then with what you have; I shall not shrink,

  Nor budge for any man: only do you,

  Neighbour Palaemon, with your whole heart’s skill-

  For it is no slight matter-play your part.

  PALAEMON

  Say on then, since on the greensward we sit,

  And now is burgeoning both field and tree;

  Now is the forest green, and now the year

  At fairest. Do you first, Damoetas, sing,

  Then you, Menalcas, in alternate strain: