Giambattista Felice Zappi (1667–1719)

Translated by Sir Aubrey de Vere

WHAT form in everlasting marble wrought

Sits, giantlike, Art’s noblest triumph there?

Voice almost trembles on the lip, high thought

Seems throbbing on that brow of grandeur rare;

’Tis Moses!—Lo! that beard of wreathing hair

And the twin glories from his temples shot;

Moses!—but with that yet diviner air

Upon the Mount from God’s own presence caught.

Such was he once, when the wave’s wild rebound

Hung o’er him vast; such, when the deathful roar

Of waters closed, at the command of Heaven!

And ye, vile crew,—once worshippers around

A worthless calf; had ye but knelt before

A shape like this, your sin almost had been forgiven.