Our familiar Virgil tempers the grandeur of the epic with loss, and strikes ambiguous moods in the midst of war glory; but, the lesser known Virgil floods the senses with a rustic imagination drunk on the colourful singing of country air through mountains and over streams. Here the world turns over, like a grave person all wrapped up in earth, and the furniture of the universe weeps with joy for one special child to be seated.

True to his peculiar habits of adopting striking contrasts and raising them as natural siblings, Arcadia is temporary and present few times through this poetic life. For under the romantic ground of transformed nature lies a familiar world of political realism and untrammeled power. If Virgil had chosen otherwise than to transfigure, the Eclogues might not have been as lasting as they have been through all proceeding time.

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