Aeneidea, Or, Critical, Exegetical, and Aesthetical Remarks on the Aeneis: With a Personal Collation of All the First Class Mss., Upwards of One Hundred Second Class Mss., and All the Principal Editions, Volume 3

Front Cover
Williams and Norgate, 1889
1 Review
Reviews aren't verified, but Google checks for and removes fake content when it's identified

From inside the book

What people are saying - Write a review

Reviews aren't verified, but Google checks for and removes fake content when it's identified
User Review - Flag as inappropriate

A most helpful glimpse into the nineteenth century research on the Aeneid penned by a most dedicated researcher, Irishman James Henry, who devoted over twelve years to searching sources and interpreting the manuscripts of this work by Virgil. He is very interesting and devoted to uncovering the Latin language which Virgil used to write the long poem. In doing his research, he not only interprets and appreciates Virgil, but also takes on many of the European researchers and translators of the work by Virgil in his European setting. He compares, contrasts, and criticizes the various translations and interpretations by many scholars. A great way to increase your understanding of Latin language and also to understand the poetic devices of the Roman poet Virgilius, this is a great work that is mind-stretching and very educative. He never received any pecuniary reward for this great work of devotion to the Aeneid. The result is true, unabated devotion to pure scholarship that would be rare to find today among scholars. Hard work, but greatly rewarding.  

Selected pages

Other editions - View all

Common terms and phrases

Popular passages

Page 321 - ... oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn brushing with hasty steps the dews away to meet the sun upon the upland lawn. 'there at the foot of yonder nodding beech that wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, his listless length at noontide would he stretch, and pore upon the brook that babbles by.
Page 177 - Blow, blow, thou winter wind, Thou art not so unkind As man's ingratitude ; Thy tooth is not so keen, Because thou art not seen, Although thy breath be rude.
Page 321 - E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires. For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead, Dost in these lines their artless tale relate ; If chance, by lonely Contemplation led, Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, ' Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.
Page 412 - The Niobe of nations ! there she stands, Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe; An empty urn within her withered hands, Whose holy dust was scattered long ago; The Scipios...
Page 280 - To shake the sounding marsh; or from the shore The plovers when to scatter o'er the heath, And sing their wild notes to the listening waste. At last from Aries rolls the bounteous sun, And the bright Bull receives him. Then no more Th...
Page 413 - She looks a sea Cybele, fresh from ocean, Rising with her tiara of proud towers At airy distance, with majestic motion, A ruler of the waters and their powers...
Page 113 - OLD King Cole was a merry old soul, And a merry old soul was he; He called for his pipe, and he called for his bowl, And he called for his fiddlers three.
Page 724 - gainst that season comes Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, The bird of dawning singeth all night long...
Page 130 - I suck the liquid air, All amidst the gardens fair Of Hesperus, and his daughters three That sing about the golden tree. Along the crisped shades and bowers Revels the spruce and jocund Spring; The Graces and the rosy-bosomed Hours Thither all their bounties bring.
Page 321 - O'er the Elysian flowers ; By those happy souls who dwell In yellow meads of asphodel, Or amaranthine bowers ; By the heroes' armed shades, Glittering through the gloomy glades ; By the youths that died for love, Wandering in the myrtle grove, Restore, restore Eurydice to life : Oh take the husband, or return the wife ! He sung, and hell consented To hear the poet's prayer ; Stern Proserpine relented, And gave him back the fair.

Bibliographic information