Sayfadaki görseller

Far from their homes, as slaves that they may bring
Us slavery; sheeplike, driven forth through fear
From Bohemia and Croatia, to grass
Throughout the winter in a strange morass.

Stern discipline and a hard life indeed,
Mute and derided, often lonely too,
Blind instruments of an ever-watchful greed
By which they profit nothing, have no clue
To for the most part. How that lusty seed
Of hate, constraining Lombards to eschew
What's German, has been fostered by whose throne
Stands fast through discord and dreads peace alone!

Poor fellows, far away from home, amid
A hostile people! Which of us can say
What hatred deep down in their souls lies hid
For the oppressor? I could wager they
Scorn him no less than we do! Let me rid
Them of my presence quickly; if I stay
I'm sure to kiss that corporal there, the tall
One stuck up like a ladder by the wall!

Aleardo Aleardi, 1812-1878

Sailing to Aquileja came one day
The Evangelist (with him
Behold the monarch of the forest wiles),
When the unheeding pilot, by the breeze
wafted into a dim
Lagoon and melancholy, went astray
Within a labyrinth of mournful isles.
At the approaching of the sacred bark,


unico abitatore,

volando emerse di colombi un nembo

dal turbato lavacro.

Il pio guardò quell' isole dal lembo

della sua poppa lungamente. In core

gli sfolgorò del vaticinio il lampo;

e profetò che un giorno

tra quella d'acque squallida vallea,

in trionfal ritorno,

all' avello condotto esser dovea.

E come ei tacque, sulle le canne apparve

lo spettro d'una chiesa bizantina

che tremolò per l'etere e disparve;

e d'eco in eco per lo tacito arco

dell' adriaca marina

grido immenso volò: "Viva san Marco!

Sì, laggiù poserai, ma sotto l'ale

d'un padiglion di cupole dorate;

laggiù, o celeste, poserai, ma cinto

da selva di lucenti

colonne, e sul tuo portico regale

scintilleranno egregi e impazienti

i destrier di Corinto,

al nome tuo, venturo inno di guerra,

dagli antri funerali

i lividi corsali

esulteranno: e dai pugnati campi

prigionieri verran di Palestina

a riflettersi mille arabe lune

dentro le tue lagune;

e sulle torri dell' infido greco

un vecchio ardente e cieco

guiderà la vittoria

a piantar fra i nemici il tuo vessillo,

Sole harbinger of life,
A cloud of pigeons flew
Up from the startled pools.
Astern, the Saint with earnest glances drew
The isles towards him, and his heart waxed rife
With gifts of prophecy;
And he foretold how he,
Towards that squalid wilderness of wave,
Would be borne back triumphantly
One day unto his grave.
And as he hushed, amid the reeds appeared
A temple of Byzantium, a ghost
That wavered in the breeze, then disappeared.
Thereon athwart the sky,
Echoing down the Adriatic coast,
"Long live Saint Mark !" arose the mighty cry.
Yea, yonder thou shalt rest, but in a shrine
With cupolas of gold;

Yonder, O holy one, shalt rest, but wreathed
With countless columns fair,
And Corinth's chargers shine
In gallant ardour there;
And when thy name is breathed,
War-cry of years to be,
From gloomy caves the pale-
Faced corsairs will set sail
Exultantly; from stricken battlefields
Of Palestine the captives will be brought
And mirror Arab moons
Within thy still lagoons;
A blind and aged man boldly will wreak
Upon the turrets of the perfid Greek
Vengeance victorious,
And plant thy banner in a hostile land,


logoro dalla gloria.

Verranno i re da region lontane

le tue belle a sposar repubblicane;

e su quella palude

d'alighe immonda sorgeran portenti

di templi, di trofei, di monumenti:

da quelle isole nude,

come dal sen di magiche conchiglie,

perle usciranno d'indite famiglie.

Giovanni Prati, 1815-1885

A Chi la zolla avita
ara co' propri armenti,
e le vigne fiorenti
al fresco olmo marita,
e, i casalinghi dèi
bene invocando, al sole
mette gagliarda prole
da' vegeti imenei:

a chi le capre snelle
sparge sul pingue clivo,
0 pota il sacro olivo
sotto clementi stelle;
a chi, le braccia ignude,
nel ciclopeo travaglio,
picchia il paterno maglio
sulla fiammante incude:
a questi Igea dispensa
giocondi operatori
i candidi tesori
del sonno e della mensa;


Tattered and glorious.

And kings will flock from distant countrysides

To claim thy fair republicans for brides;

And on these marshes where

The slimy seaweed grows will rise portents

Of temples, trophies, and of monuments;

And from these islands bare

Will spring a noble race, as doth a pearl

From magic shells when these their hearts unfurl.

Giovanni Prati, 1815-1885

HE who ancestral fields
With his own oxen ploughs,
He who the prosperous vine
To the green elm-tree vows,
He who, his household Gods
Invoking fair, takes wife
And to a hardy prole
Gives in the sunshine life;

He who lithe goats doth lead
O'er luscious slopes afar,
Who sacred olive trees
Plants 'neath a kindly star,
Who in cyclopic toil
His father's hammer swings
With a bared arm until
The glowing anvil rings;

Are willing toilers all
On whom Hygieia bestows
Her candid gifts of well-
Spread board and sweet repose.

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