tondo sorride: pensoso il padre, di caprine pelli l’anche ravvolto come i fauni antichi, regge il dipinto plaustro e la forza de’ bei giovenchi, de’ bei giovenchi dal quadrato petto, erti su ‘l capo le lunate corna, dolci ne gli occhi, nivei, che il mite Virgilio amava. Oscure intanto fumano le nubi su l’Appennino: grande, austera, verde da le montagne digradanti in cerchio L’Umbrïa guarda. Salve, Umbria verde, e tu del puro fonte nume Clitumno! Sento in cuor l’antica patria e aleggiarmi su l’accesa fronte gl’itali iddii. The last verse cited above is particularly famous and has become proverbial in modern Italy. An accurate prose translation of the above is: The flocks still come down to you, o Clitumnus, from the far mountains that move with the murmur of breeze-swept ash groves and fresh scent of sage and thyme in the damps of evening. The young Umbrian shepherd immerses his reluctant sheep in your waters. By a farmhouse a barefoot mother sits and sings, nursing her child, who looks to the shepherd and smiles. The pensive father with goatish hair, at his painted cart, turns on his hips like the beasts of old, with the strength of a young bull, like those square of breast, erect and crowned by crescent horns, sweet in their eyes and snow-white, much beloved by gentle Virgil. The darkening clouds hang like smoke on the Apennines: grand, austere and green from the spreading mountains, Umbria watches. Hail, green Umbria, and you the fount of god Clitumnus. I feel in my heart the ancient home, my fevered brow touched by the olden gods of Italy. (translation: J. Matthews) Notes Italian poems 1877 poems 1889 poems