The Ghent Review Volume1, Number 1, summer 2016 | Page 22

I was born sub Julio though late, and lived in Rome, under the good
Augustus, in the age of false, deceitful gods. I was a poet, and sang of
Aeneas, that virtuous son of Anchises, who came from Troy when proud
Ilium was burned. But you, why do you turn back towards such pain? Why
do you not climb the delightful mountain, that is the origin and cause of all
joy?’
I answered him, with a humble expression: ‘Are you then that Virgil, and
that fountain, that pours out so great a river of speech? O, glory and light to
other poets, may that long study, and the great love, that made me scan
your work, be worth something now. You are my master, and my author:
you alone are the one from whom I learnt the high style that has brought me
honour. See the creature that I turned back from: O, sage, famous in
wisdom, save me from her, she that makes my veins and my pulse tremble.’