Journal of Italian Translation

Joseph Tusiani/Ugo Foscolo
nor even fish-replete Elea could
ever restrain their ardor. Also near,
Brisea lies, whence the Taygetus heard
the loud-exultant clangor of the rites
whereby a female chorus, strengthened by
the interceding Graces, soothed Lyaeus.
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But where, chaste Goddesses, oh, tell me where
you saw the primal altar dear to you,
so that, if never shall I find its like
upon this earth, I may at least feel in me
the old religion of its dazzling site.
Utterly veiled, proceeding toward the lofty
Dorion scanning far Arcadia,
my Goddesses reached Thuria: Alpheus
withdrew his waves, thus laying at their feet
an easy ford that to this very day
a pilgrim crosses worshiping in awe –
a portent that to all the Greeks revealed
the mighty sky: from far away indeed
they felt the fragrant breathing of the Gods.
Right where Boeotia ends, starts Aspledon,
a city mantled by the setting sun
in raimen’ts of pure gold; not far from there,
right in the boundless Minyan plainland, lies
blest Orchomenus where the Graces heard
the first entrancing hymn, half sung by nymphs
and half by youths in alternating strains.
................................................
When their hymn ended, Cytherea shone
in her unclouded deity: the nymphs
and all the youths that saw her knew full bliss
and, but as Dryads and as Sylvans known,
faithfully followed Phoebus ever since.
Shunning all human vestiges, and deaf
to vulgar poets whose unskillful lyre
lures them in vain, through woods they wander still,
invisible and silent all of them.
Just as a Fury now released from hell,
eager to feast on winter-frozen ground,
bathes in Icelandic execrable streams
where waters reek most putrid and most foul
or, searching for blue skies, lights up her torch
from the live sulphur of Greenlandic lakes;
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