While I’m relieved to report that two friends and colleagues who teach at Virginia Tech are safe, my mind and heart stir nonetheless for them and everyone else there. A number—if not all—of us, especially those at large public universities, have been shaken.
Today was a difficult day to teach, especially if what you assigned for class was this:
[485] heu, terrā ignōtā canibus date praeda Latīnīs
ālitibusque iacēs! nec tē tua fūnere māter
prōdūxī pressīve oculōs aut vulnera lāvī,
veste tegēns tibi quam noctēs festīna diēsque
urgēbam, et tēlā cūrās sōlābar anīlīs.
[490] quō sequar? aut quae nunc artūs āvulsaque membra
et fūnus lacerum tellūs habet? hoc mihi dē tē,
nāte, refers? hoc sum terrāque marīque secūta?
fīgite mē, sī qua est pietās, in mē omnia tēla
cōnicite, Ō Rutulī, mē prīmam absūmite ferrō;
[495] aut tū, magne pater dīvum, miserēre, tuōque
invīsum hoc dētrūde caput sub Tartara tēlō,
quandō aliter nequeō crūdēlem abrumpere vītam.Cold on the ground, and pressing foreign clay,
To Latian dogs and fowls he lies a prey!
Nor was I near to close his dying eyes,
To wash his wounds, to weep his obsequies,
To call about his corpse his crying friends,
Or spread the mantle (made for other ends)
On his dear body, which I wove with care,
Nor did my daily pains or nightly labor spare.
Where shall I find his corpse? what earth sustains
His trunk dismember’d, and his cold remains?
For this, alas! I left my needful ease,
Expos’d my life to winds and winter seas!
If any pity touch Rutulian hearts,
Here empty all your quivers, all your darts;
Or, if they fail, thou, Jove, conclude my woe,
And send me thunderstruck to shades below!—Vergil, Aeneid 9.485–497; Dryden, trans.
O to be the parent of one of those 33!
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