Giuseppe Tartini - Lettere e documenti / Pisma in dokumenti / Letters and Documents - Volume / Knjiga / Volume II

386 Ah! What cannot a common heritage not do, Ignorance in the bosom of mortals! Indeed she in the world of more evils is the seed Than indeed was the dream of Agamemnon, Child of darkness and error For which, flame-like towards Troy, Hurried the army of the Greeks Emboldened by the promises and favour of Jove. And the soil groaned beneath the hooved Feet of horses and the trampling infantry Who flooded the valleys and fields. Wretched ones! As Jove had something quite different In mind, and they’d quite soon perish beneath The mighty Hector’s ghastly fury, Who in the fields of Mysia became a golden harvest Under the scythe of the bowed reaper. Always to just a few, whom the gracious Sky Blessed with such grace, was it ever given to recognise From under the veil the immortal Sophia. Oh Goddess, who deigns to reveal herself to few, If you tread not the scenes haughtily Surrounded by Doric instruments, And in the curved Theatre to you is not raised High cry of applause of the dense populace, Rather with golden learning you feed the mind And you remove or soothe the evil thereof, Whereby at times, to man, tedious is life, Sweet dew, and nectar sweet and pure, To enjoy from the Sky fallen to earth. Not Insane discord, nor sombre pride, Not false honour, child of ignoble sloth, Contorted was he who could look upon you Mortal gazing, oh Goddess, and recognised you. Oh who lifts me to flight, and who sets me down Where your noble seat among the chosen Group of Sages you wished to place! I behold below the quivering sea, The green beaches I behold, and the white cliffs, That the black surge crashes and beats around, And one thousand ships and a thousand the royal river