Journal of Italian Translation

Joseph Tusiani/Ugo Foscolo
pushed by the fair Neptunians with their hands,
lightly the shell was skimming still the shore
when very gently two most gentle does
willingly to the chariot yoked themselves.
To Cynthia they belonged: the Goddess kept them
in her Dictean forests where, immune
to mortal arrows, they in freedom grazed.
Venture had brought the nimbly faring pair
right there that morning; so they quickly ran
to aid the Goddess’ journey. Suddenly
Iris, who views with Zephyrs in their flight,
sat down as charioteer and onward aimed
toward the Laconian isthmus. Cythera
was not yet queen of the encircling gulf:
where now you watch but sails high on the waves
a thick, black woodland hung where not one god
was welcomed by the children of the earth
who fought each other for each other’s prey
with human flesh ever the victor’s meal.
Seeing the chariot, they wildly roared,
wielding their clubs in anger. Promptly Venus,
cuddling the shivering virgins to her breast
under her cloak, “Plunge down, thou forest:,” bade,
and of that forest there was trace no more.
Such were, alas, man’s primal ancestors!
Hence a delirious readiness to fight
instinctively lies dormant in us all,
which, if the pitying Graces curb it not,
often rekindles and most wretchedly
flaunts as its trophy but fraternal bones.
Ah, these may I not see now that in Italy
they bleach unburied in the golden wheat.
But who, of all the Gods, could ever tame
those beast-like humans? And what help had he
here on this earth upon the very dawn
Venus released her Graces to the World?
High and horrendous is the tale of it,
of which a timid echo Fame disclosed
to us still groping in our native dark.
Embellish it, you Graces who were there,
and, being Goddesses, know all things well.
When Father Jove distributed the stars
among the Gods, he kept the brightest one,
gave Cytherea the fairest, and Athena
the highest of them all: the happy throngs
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