Finished: The Aeneid (Virgil). I'm in awe of those ancient writers! To read over 300 pages of the free verse epic poem of the journey of Aeneas and enjoy it just shows how brilliant Virgil was. I'm not really into reading about battles and myths and gods, but Virgil kept me reading with The Aeneid just like Homer kept me reading with The Odyssey. There were probably a few too many repetitive battle scenes, considering the last half of the book was all battle, and...far too many names to keep up with amongst all the slain warriors, but it was still a good read. Let's just say....I'd take the journey of Aeneas any day over the journey of Dean Moriarty. :-)

Here are a few passages I liked. I think I quoted the "Rumor" passage from Ovid too:

Then through the cities wide
Of Lybia, all at once flies Rumor forth,---
Rumor: no evil is more swift than her.
She grows by motion, gathers strength by flight.
Small at first, through fear, soon to the skies
She lifts herself. She walks upon the ground,
And hides her head in clouds. Her parent Earth,
In ire, so they say, at the anger of the gods,
Gave birth to her, her latest progeny,
Sister to Coeus and Enceladus;
With nimble feet, and swift persistent wings,
A monster huge and terrible is she.
As many feathers as her body bears,
So many watchful eyes beneath them lurk,
So many tongues and mouths, and ears erect.
By night between heaven and earth she flies, through shades,
With rushing wings, nor shuts her eyes in sleep.
By day she watches from the roofs or towers;
And the great cities fills with haunting fears;
As prone to crime and falsehood as to truth,
She with her gossip multifold now filled
The people's ears, rejoicing---fiction and fact
Alike proclaiming; now that Aeneas, born
Of Trojan blood, had come, who Dido thought
Worthy her hand in marriage; now that they
Were passing the long winter in delight
Of luxury, unmindful of their realms,
Captive to low desires.

And a short one...after Pallas has valiantly fallen to Turnus' sword, Aeneas sends him home to his father to be buried before he continues on in battle:

The chariots of the hero then are led,
Dashed with Rutulian blood. His war-horse next,
Aethon, his trappings laid aside, moves on,
The big tears coursing down his sorrowing face.
And others bear the helmet and the spear;
For all the rest victorious Turnus held.
Then the sad phalanx comes, the Trojans all,
And Tuscans, and Arcadians, following on
With arms reversed. When all the train had passed
In long array, Aeneas paused, and thus
With a deep groan resumed: "War's direful fates
Now call us hence to other tears than these.
Great Pallas, here I greet you but to leave!
Forever hail! forever fare thee well!"
He said no more, but to camp returned.

Then, finally at the end, Aeneas is about to finally slay Thurnus at the end of the epic battle. Thurnus pleads for his life. Aeneas almost gives in to mercy when he sees that Thurnus was irreverent enough to wear the fallen Pallas' belt in battle. Aeneas finishes the job:

...pity, I beg,
My father Daunus' venerable age;
And me, or if you would rather, send back,
Despoiled of life, my corpse unto my friends.
You have prevailed. The Ausonians have beheld
A vanquished enemy stretch forth his hands.
Lavinia is your bride. Stretch not your hate
Beyond what you have done.
   Stern in his arms
Aeneas stood, and rolled his eyes around,
And his right hand repressed; and more and more
those words began to bend his wavering will;---
When, on the lofty shoulder of his foe
The unlucky belt appeared,---young Pallas' belt
Shone gleaming with its studs he knew so well;
Pallas, whom Turnus overpowered and slew,
And now wore on his shoulders the hostile badge.
He, as his eyes drank in the hateful sight,
Those spoils, memorials of that cruel grief,
Inflamed with fury, terrible in wrath,
"And do you think," he cried, "to escape my hand,
Clothed in the spoils you have snatched from my friend?
It's Pallas, Pallas slays you with this blow,
And takes his vengeance with your accursed blood!"
He spoke, and plunged his sword into his breast.
Relaxed, the limbs lay cold, and, with a groan,
Down to the Shades the soul, indignant, fled.