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I testi poetici:


Parte I

Parte II





di Elizabeth Barrett Browning



I heard last night a little child go singing

‘Neath Casa Guidi Windows, by the church,

"O bella libertà, O bella!" stringing

The same words still on notes he went in search

So high for, you concluded the upspringing

Of such a nimble bird to sky from perch

Must leave the whole bush in a tremble green;

And that the heart of Italy must beat,

While such a voice had leave to rise serene

‘Twixt church and palace of a Florence street! -

A little child, too, who not long had been

By mother’s finger steadied on his feet;

‘And still "O bella libertà" he sang.

" O bella libertà, o bella" canta un bambino italiano sotto le finestre di Casa Guidi, un ragazzino che fino a ieri la madre aiutava a stare in piedi.
" O bella libertà, o bella" an Italian child sings near Casa Guidi windows, a child who not long had been helped by his mother to steady on his feet.


Might a shamed sister, - "Had she been less fair

She were less wretched," - how, evoking so

L’Italia è un paese da cui molti popoli sono attratti per la sua bellezza. Se l’Italia fosse meno bella non sarebbe stata così spesso conquistata e violata.
Italy is a beautiful country which attracts many invaders. If Italy had been less beautiful it would have not been so much conquered and violated.


On chin and forehead from a dream to deep, -

Through all that drowsy hum of voices smooth,

The hopeful bird mounts carolling from brake;

The hopeful child withy leaps to catch his growth,

Sings open-eyed for liberty’s sweet sake;

And I, who am a singer too, forsooth,

Prefer to sing with these who are awake,

With birds, with babes, with men who will not fear

Dalle flebili voci dei grandi poeti del passato si arriva al bambino pieno di speranza che canta la libertà per se stessa e la poetessa, che canta in versi per amore della poesia, preferisce unirsi alle persone che sono vive e al coro dei ragazzi, dei bambini, e degli uomini che non hanno paura e non agli uomini del passato.
From the soft voices of the great poets of the past the poetress describes a hopeful and open–eyed child who sings for liberty and the poet, who sings with poetry, prefers to join the people who are alive and sings with babies and men who will not fear, instead of the famous dead.


And hope of life. "What’s Italy?" men ask;

And other answers, "Virgil, Cicero, Catullus, Caesar." And what more? To task

The memory closer - "Why, Boccaccio,

Dante, Petrarca," - and if still the flask

Cos’è l’Italia? E’ Virgilio, Cicerone, e più vicino a noi Boccaccio, ma noi abbiamo bisogno di uomini nuovi.
What is Italy? It is the country of the great authors of the past, Virgil, Cicero, …, but we need new men.


We do not serve the dead - the past is past!

God lives, and lifts is glorious mornings up

Before the eyes of men, who wake at last,

Il passato è passato, il cielo apre giorni gloriosi davanti agli occhi degli uomini che finalmente si destano.
The past is past, God lifts his glorious mornings up before the eyes of men, who wake at last.


To help the heavens and earth to make me strong,

As the wind ever will find out some reed,

And touch it to such issues as belong to such a frail thing? Who denies the death,

Libation for full cups? Unless we choose to look back to the hills behind his spread,

The plains before us sadden and confuse;

If orphaned, we are disinherited.

In questo pezzo l'autrice prega i cieli e la terra di farla più forte contro la morte, che è inevitabile, ma è presente anche un messaggio di speranza e va indietro con la memoria a degli avvenimenti precedenti.
In this piece she prays heavens and earth to be stronger against the death, that is inevitable, but there's even a message of hope.


The day was such a day as Florence owes the sun. The sky above,

Its weight upon the mountains seemed to lay,

And palpitate in glory, like a dove who has flown too fast, full-hearted.

Take away The image! For the heart of man beat higher

That day in Florence, flooding all her streets and piazzas with a tumult and desire.

The people, with accumulated heats, and faces tourned one way, as if one fire

Did draw and flush them , leaving their old beats,

upward to the palace Pitti wall, to thank their Grand-duke, who, not quite of course,

Had Graciously permitted, at their call,

The citizens to use their civic force to guardtheir civic homes.

So, one and all, the Tuscan cities streamed up to the source

La giornata piena di sole era gloriosa per Firenze quando il cuore di ciascuno batteva più forte che mai mentre tutti inondavano le strade e le piazze e si dirigevano verso il palazzo del granduca per ringraziarlo di aver concesso l'uso della guardia civica; e come Firenze tutte le città toscane.
This piece says that Florence is a glorious city and this day we can see also the people is related to the city. So the streets are crowded of these people that are heading for the Palazzo Pitti where the Grand Duke is. The procession also passe under Casa Guidi Windows.


Meanwhile, in this same Italy we want

Not popular passion, to arise and crush,

But popular conscience, wich may covenant

For what it knows. Concede without a blush -

To grant the "civic guard" is not to grant

The civic spirit, living and awake.

La Browning ci dice che la costituzione di una guardia civica non comporta necessariamente la costituzione di uno spirito civico.
Browning shows us that the civic guard doesn't mean to have a civic spirit


The only light; from eucharistic bowls

Will pour new life for nations that expire,

And rend the scarlet of his Papal vest

To gird the weak loins of his country-men

- I hold that man surpasses all the rest

Of Romans, heroes, patriots, - and that when

He sat down on the throne he dispossessed

The first graves of some glory. See again,

This country-saving is a glorious thing!

Why, say a common man achieved it? Well!

Say, a rich man did? Excellent! A king?

That grows sublime! A priest? Improbable!

A Pope? Ah, there we stop and cannot bring

Our faith up to the leap, with history’s bell

So heavy round the neck of it – albeit

We fain would grant the possibility for thy sake, Pio Nono!

Elisabeth fa delle considerazioni sul fatto che non ci sono altri uomini in grado di governare il paese.
Elisabeth makes considerations on the fact that there are no other men who could hold the country.


…such a proved possible thy throne to me

Shall seem as holy a place as Pellico’s

Venetian dungeon; or as Spielberg’s grate,

Where the fair Lombard woman hung the rose

Of her sweet soul, by its own dewy weight,

(Because her sun shone inside to the close!)

La legittimità del trono papale paragonata alla sacralità delle inferriate di Spielberg, dove la bella donna lombarda lasciò la sua anima cadere come il peso della rugiada.
The thyness of the papal throne compared to the sacrality of Spielberg’s grate, where the fair Lombard woman let her sweet soul fall to the ground, as dewy weight.



As princes may be; and, as priests are, true

- But only the ninth Pius after eight,

when all’s praised most. At best and hopefullest,

He’s pope – we want a man!

Il Papa migliore che si potesse sperare, ma c’è bisogno di uomini degni di tale nome!
The best Pope we could hope, but we need a man as well!


Come, appear, be found,

If pope or peasant, come! We hear the cock,

The courtier of the mountains when first crowned

With golden dawn; and orient gloriuos flock

To meet the sun upon the highest ground.

Take voice and walk! We wait to hear thee knock
L’invocazione e l’attesa di un liberatore così amato, che arrivi come un’alba gloriosa!
The invocation and the waiting of a so loved liberator, who arrives as a glorious sunrise!


Help, lands of Europe! For, it Austria fight,

The drums will bar your slumber. Who had curled

The laurel for your thousand artists’ browse,

If these Italian hands and planted none?

And who can sit down idle, in the house,

Nor hear appeals from Bounarroti’s stone

L’oziosa Austria non può definirsi come patria di artisti se non grazie alla cultura italiana.
The lazy Austria can’t define itself as artist’s country without the help of the Italian culture.


And Vallombrosa, we two went to see

Last June, beloved companion, - where sublime

The mountains live in holy families,

And the slow pinewoods, ever climb and climb

Remembering Vallombrosa. Therefore is

The place divine to English man and child –

We all love Italy.

Ricordi di Vallombrosa della famiglia di Elisabeth.
Memories of Vallombrosa of Elisabeth’s family.