Translated via Susan H. Braund
Lucan's epic poem at the civil battle among Caesar and Pompey, unfinished on the time of his demise, stands beside the poems of Virgil and Ovid within the first rank of Latin epic. This newly annotated, loose verse translation conveys the whole strength of Lucan's writing and his grimly sensible view of the topic. The paintings is a strong condemnation of civil conflict, emphasizing the stark, darkish horror of the catastrophies which the Roman nation inflicted upon itself. either the creation and thesaurus set the scene for readers unexpected with Lucan and discover his dating with previous writers of Latin epic, and his curiosity within the sensational.
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Whilst the impending ebook of this new translation was once introduced, I puzzled the way it might evaluate with Hatto's translation from the Nineteen Sixties. the fast solution is: it truly is extra literal, holding toward the sentence-for-sentence constitution of the unique center excessive German poem. This makes it appear possibly a piece uneven or much less polished than Hatto.
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You ‘re the one who eats his meat raw. ” :Cooking ruins the flavor,: Warrl replied haughtily. : “Dear Goddess. No wonder they die young. Yes, I’m going after her. ” Tarma reminded her mare with a touch of her heels that she was supposed to be trotting. The mare grunted, and grudgingly increased her speed. : Warrl, creature of the magic-riddled Pelagir Hills, had some mage-abilities of his own; how much, he’d never told Tarma or her partner. He’d been able to throw off magical attacks in the past that would have killed a man.
He reached down, as Dierna shrank away from him, and grabbed a lock of her long, unbound dark hair. He yanked her back toward him with it tangled cruelly in his fingers - Kero watched her clench her teeth and wince - and cut the lock off with a single stroke of his knife. Kero bit her lip with sudden speculation. That was not what she’d expected him to do. As she watched, he rose from his impromptu seat, kicking Dierna out of the way impatiently, and took the lock of hair to a flat rock just inside the ring of firelight.
And it’s a good thing I have a head for heights, she thought soberly, eyeing the stair dubiously. Oh, well. . She tethered Verenna to the hitching post, giving her enough lead-rope so that she’d be able to graze a little. It’s too late for wolves, and too early for mountain-cats. I hope. Once again she looked back down the path, and once again saw and heard nothing out of the ordinary. She turned and started up the staircase, with one hand on the rough stone wall, resolutely looking at the steps and not over the open side.