Journal of Italian Translation

Joseph Tusiani/Ugo Foscolo
dearly converses with his fatherland.
Oh, tell us how that gift was yours alone.
Who else, O Graces, can embellish fame
for us, still groping in this earthly dusk;
who else but you, who were already there,
and, being Goddesses, know all things well?
Once more to see the Graces since their birth
bright Dawn had climbed four times the eastern sky:
father of Italy, old Janus then,
and Adriatic Amphitrite sent
their gifts along with Eridanian girls
and Naiads, with the dwellers who enjoyed
Aniene’s trees, Arno’s and Tiber’s springs,
and all the nymphs from Arethusa’s sea—
and it was you escorted them all there,
O whiter-much-than-lilies Galatea.
.................................................
Till Phoebus sang a hymn-repleted song,
He phrophesied how bards would take the soul
from him, from his glad sisters the sweet lyre
from Love the weeping that would lure a gentle
spirit to ruth, from young Lyaeus life
devoid of cares, from Pallas good advice,
and from all Gods the laurel afterwards;
but from the Graces would the honey flow,
inspiring gracious feelings apt once more
to reconcile with Heaven this our earth.
He noticed, as he sang, the fragrance-breathing
excitement of the green Olympian woods,
the nectar-running streams, the roses’ birth,
the splendor of the skies, and the far brighter
immortal beauty of the Goddesses:
indeed the Father smiled on this while, harmless,
his eagle rested underneath his throne.
Unreachable to all the Deities,
in the last heaven shines a lonely flame
which its own fire makes eternal: there
the awesome Goddess Vesta climbs alone
to fetch a cloudless light that with the sun’s
paints in pure sapphire the whole firmament
and the whole sea, now in the tranquil breeze
waving most easy to the seaman’s eyes,
and comforts with its sweetest clarity
each solitary night wherein the humblest
flower that burgeons to bedeck the earth
261