I have restricted my
list of poets to these names, because Germanicus
has been distracted from the study of
poetry on which he had embarked by his care for
the governance of the world, and the gods have
thought it scarce worthy of his powers that he
should be the greatest of poets. But what can be
more sublime, more learned, more perfect in every
detail than those works to which he devoted himself
in the seclusion to which he retired after conferring
the supreme power upon his father and his brother?
Who could sing of war better than he who wages it
with such skill? To whom would the goddesses
that preside over literature sooner lend an ear? To
whom would Minerva, his familiar deity,2
readily reveal her secrets?