Journal of Italian Translation

Joseph Tusiani/Ugo Foscolo
treasured that fateful song while running fast
from land to land to breathe it into men.
And ever since men felt within their souls
an incantation, all their thoughts shone bright,
and every novel thing they heard or saw
in beauty grew and most delighted them
if but they tried to imitate its awe.
When with the Graces all the fleeting Hours
colored with varied lights the countryside,
and small birds followed them with carefree sounds
of rivulets and forests, mortal eyes
began to copy all those happy hues
and, while the ocean floor was storm-harassed
or agitated by still warring Mars,
looking on rills and woods, they could enjoy
but painted wings and rustic scenery.
.................................................
Easily Art, which heeded Harmony,
made matter elegant: bronze like a leaf
of meek acanthus wreathed the columns’ height,
and beams and marble blocks gained frieze and law
till, curved in nimble arches, they reflected
with equal melody the firmament.
But, oh, much happier are you who could
sculpture your lady’s effigy in stone.
Love first engendered in your deepest heart
a yearning for her beauty wholly bare
which man’s profaning eyes failed to adore.
For where you sat the Graces sat with you,
and on those features, on that very face
such graceful beauty their live breathing left,
such gentle feelings with their gentle song
did they inspire to her nakedness,
instead of your true friend you recognized
Venus herself within the marble core.
Hard though it be to decorate with song,
can any man divulge the Gods’ events?
Impatiently this erring hymn of mine
shuns the most gracious minds eager to hear;
yet, my fair Sisters, I cannot depart
while this my thought dictates much prouder songs.
But whither shall I ever follow you
if Fate has snatched you from your native Greece,
and Italy, your second home, can boast
but of your beauty, heedless of your might?
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