unlike The Iliad or The Odyssey, which may have had many Homers, and had passed from one generation to the next through recounting, The Aeneid is the work of one man: Virgil.

The mythical origin of Rome was written in Latin in the first century BC, and was recited by Virgil himself to Emperor Augustus (a.k.a., Octavian).

I don't know Latin and will never learn it, but reading Robert Fagles's translation makes me want to read so many passages aloud. This is something that didn't happen with Homer's works (I also read Fagles's translations).

I think there is something in the story itself, in its essence, that makes it fluid, seamless, and pretty much agnostic to any translation.

I called a friend of mine, a real scholar, and asked if he had experienced the same urge to read aloud The Aeneid. His response: "of course... Virgil is the Prince of the Poets"

The translation favored by scholars (and snobs) is John Dryden's, published in 1697. That's the one my friend read. For me, though, there's nothing wrong and much good with Fagles.

Effortlessly and magnificent lines about Venus (she had disguised as a young girl):

Aeneas: "... but how should a greet a young girl like you?
Your face, your features-hardly a mortal's looks
and the tone of your voice is hardly human either."
...
as she turned away her neck shone with a rosy glow,
her mane of hair gave off an ambrosial fragrance,
her skirt flowed loose, rippling down to her feet
and her stride alone revealed her as a goddess.