Roman poet Virgil, also Vergil, originally Publius Vergilius Maro, composed the Aeneid, an epic telling after the sack of Troy of the wanderings of Aeneas.
My husband and I read out loud to each other before going to bed. We just finished this lugubrious, repetitive classic. At first the rhyming verse enchanted and soared because of the beautiful and well paced translation by John Dryden.
However, the text is incredibly repetitive and the participants no more than cut outs for getting gloriously killed in spectacularly gory ways. Only the section with Aeneas and Dido resonate. A good friend told me the new Emily Wilson translation of the Iliad is revelatory. That gives me hope for the continuing relevance of the classics.