Journal of Italian Translation

Joseph Tusiani/Ugo Foscolo
Resting one side on an Etruscan column,
she gazed on something right in front of her—
a beehive longing still for honeycombs.
Full many a verdant spear of wheat burst forth
down at her feet while others, not yet ripe,
amongst the vying poppies perished soon:
though of celestial origin, the Handmaid
was hardly known to the immortal bees.
Never has she returned among the Gods
since she came down on man’s first tedious days;
man she consoles but steals his present hours:
her name (she smiles on farmers most) is Hope.
In the last heavens Saturn with his planet
was in the seventh of his lengthy years
when, as forerunner of the Nine, the Handmaid,
by Pallas so advised, returned to us
bringing the sacred altar where in gold
were carved and shone the free and simple laws
that made the arts and Athens beautiful.
.....................................................
Behold, a forest down is being felled
along with marble blocks and measureless
masses of iron by Cyclopes’ hands:
a temple here must rise that will for long
withstand the silent buffetings of time.
At the sound scattered by the unseen Graces
the living with new hope join in the deed:
marveling at his work, the Architect
sees, like thin clouds, fir trunks and iron beams
and marble matter, docile to his laws,
rise quickly from the earth and only rest
when, curved in airy arches, they reflect
the firmament. The Muses, all enrapt,
lift now their eyes to the imposing dome
and with nostalgic thoughts try to recall
if Pallas elsewhere ....................................
either in Greece, when the divine acanthus
garlanded every column, or in Rome
when, entering victorious on white steeds,
she decked its arches with triumphal leaves,
had with her presence so inspired the arts
as to behold such glory born at last.
When, sailing toward the Arno on her ship,
Hope afterwards brought there all of her bees—
there where the Muses’ regal mansion would
267