Journal of Italian Translation

Joseph Tusiani/Ugo Foscolo
‘t is then, surrendering to Mars her Gorgons,
Athena brandishes her father’s spear
whereby, preceding monarchs, she defends
altars and laws, thus rendering a true
and noble hero’s triumph ever bright.
Back to her island then Minerva runs,
where many minor Goddesses, by Jove
sent as dear pupils to her, she instructs
in every gentle task: chaste dancing there
is seen, chaste music heard; no frost offends
ever the flowers or the verdant lawns;
in golden sunshine the whole day remains
with ever-limpid, ever-starry nights.
She bade her Goddesses around her come,
and then assigned to all part of the work
for the completion of the gift already
promised to the shy Graces solemnly.
Each, most attentive, to her bidding ran.
Right in the middle, Pallas amiably
over her virgins watched with chaste, blue eyes.
Spinning the golden sun, ray after ray,
three naked Hours their lustrous spindles twirled,
lengthening thus the texture of a veil.
With oak-leaves aureoled, in purple clad,
came the foreseeing Fates, and soon they filled
the long-awaiting spool with threads as bright
and varied and celestial as the sky,
fluent and pervious yet Death-untouched –
threads all the Gods employ when spinning life.
No less enamored than the others, down
came Iris with the Breezes to that toil:
reaching for wandering, refulgent clouds
with one another vying for new tints,
she down to Flora rained them one by one,
hers to depict the veil with; Flora’s touch
lent them new sheen and fragrance as they took
on countless faces. And you, too, sat down,
O Psyche, often saying in your heart,
though uttering no sound, “O Love! O Love!
You promise pleasure but give only tears,”
and with a comb you thickened every thread
while, comforting your work and all your thoughts,
with eloquence Thalia plucked her chords
and heavenly Terpsichore, enrapt,
in boundless jubilation danced about you.
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