Ligurian:
O Bello Danuvio Bleu

A fin do mondo a l’ea vexiña, tutti ô saivan, tutti ô divan; tremmende mävegge uña apreuvo à l’atra ô divan ciæo, e spantaxime sciortivan d’inte tombe à luâ, un bæ con doe teste o l’ea nasciuo in campagna, in çê se veddeiva unna cometa con doe coe, un mostro tra a tigre e o lion o l’aiva scciancou di figgeu inta çittæ, o çê da seia o l’ea cô rosso sangue da maniman che o tempo o passava. I òmmi e e dònne, stæta perdua ògni temmansa e ògni soggeçion, s’accobbiavan comme bestie de fronte à tutti, pe poia che i giorni finissan da un momento à l’atro e lô no fessan in tempo à gödî; unna pestegadda impiosa co-a seu scorriatta a scorrattava donde se segge e a segava unna larga cheuggeita de teste. Scoi l’anima e o cheu de lägno e de erlia, ammiamo unna seia, a-a Foxe, a mæña cô do ciongio, donde se inandiava a tavaña e saimo che o nòstro tempo o l’ea a-a fin; un doman se saiëscimo avansæ da di barcoin gianchi in sciâ luxe chi inorbisce de un mondo neuvo sensa istöia, che nisciun no conosce e o n’à ciù de pòsto pe l’umanitæ. Ma eive che, a-a cheita, da un ciassâ in sciâ mæña sentimmo vegnî unna muxica lontaña, in sordiña; s’avvexinemmo e quattro zoene elegante, comme à unna festa de nòsse, se son assettæ in sce quattro carreghette in çercio à sunnâ, con basci e violin, franco in sciâ riva do mâ.

O bacaletto de bratta o l’arriva à lappâghe i pê, da maniman ciù ascidioso, veumito de unna sagueggia leppegosa, ma lô van avanti. Mi conoscio de drito e primme nòtte do Bello Danuvio Bleu; inte l’ïsâse à tempo do gomio drito, e belle figge impoñan a lezze impeiosa do son. Queto, paxe, seguo in scê primme, comme un largo e lento sciumme de serenitæ, dapeu o monta à l’erto, un barcon in sce l’averto da vitta. Co-o mesciâse do brasso, ch’o l’arreze l’archetto, a bella figgia elegante a commanda, e e carreghette se sollevan d’in tæra cianin, into vento de borrasca, da maniman ciù in erto, verso e nuvie scorrussæ, imbozzonæ; e i mouxi s’arrösan, à ògni corpo do gomio drito da bella elegante, e ondæ s’arretian; da maniman ciù in erto e figge, arrecampæ into seu mezo çercio de muxica, se ne van verso o sô e e nuvie se arvan, a-o segno do brasso ch’o reze l’archetto do violin, lascian straluxî o sô, e resciöi de ciæo ancon ciù grendi. Solo che quarche stissa ancon a creua ræa into largo e lento sciumme; e quattro muxicante oua son lontañe, che ciù un pittin son scentæ into pin da luxe do giorno. Stæte portæ à unn’ertixe sensa ciù termi, e quattro no ciantan lì de sunnâ, ma van avanti ancon, fin a-e urtime regioin do çê, co-o seu canto de zoentù mai astallou, sagrifiçio do seu sangue innoçente, che – comme sempre l’é stæto – de derê à un pòrtego de bronzo o conserva, pe-o tempo eterno, a luxe do mondo di vivi.

English translation:
The Blue Danube

The end of the world was near, everyone knew it, everyone said so, dreadful portents one after another said it plainly, spectres came howling from their tombs, a lamb with two heads was born in the countryside, in the sky a comet with two tails could be seen, a monster halfway between a tiger and a lion had mauled children in the city, the evening sky appeared blood-red as time went on. Men and women, having lost all fear and all restraint, coupled like beasts in front of everyone, afraid that their days might end from one moment to the next and they wouldn’t have time to take their pleasure; a merciless pestilence ran riot everywhere with its scythe, mowing down a broad harvest of heads. Our souls and hearts steeped in anxiety and anguish, one evening, at the Foce, we watched the leaden sea, where a storm was gathering, and we knew our time was at an end; tomorrow we would lean out of white windows onto the blinding light of a new world without history, which no one knows and which has no more room for humanity. But then, suddenly, from a square overlooking the sea, we hear a distant music coming, muted; we draw near, and four elegant girls, as at a wedding feast, have seated themselves on four little chairs in a circle to play, with double basses and violins, right on the seashore.

The short wave of mud comes lapping at their feet, more and more troublesome, the vomit of a slimy serpent, but they go on. I recognise at once the opening notes of the Blue Danube; as they raise their right elbows in time, the beautiful girls impose the imperious law of sound. Quiet, calm, sure at first, like a broad, slow river of serenity, it then rises upward, a window onto the openness of life. Moving the arm that holds the bow, the beautiful elegant girl commands, and the little chairs slowly lift from the ground, in the gale wind, higher and higher towards the lowering, angry clouds; and the waves draw back, at every stroke of the elegant beauty’s right elbow the breakers retreat, higher and higher the girls, gathered in their semicircle of music, go off towards the sun, and the clouds open, at the sign of the arm holding the violin bow, letting the sun show through, and ever wider chinks of brightness. Only a few drops still fall, rarely now, into the broad and slow river; the four musicians are far away now, almost vanished into the full light of day. Borne to a height without bounds, the four do not cease playing, but continue, all the way to the furthest reaches of the sky, with their indomitable song of youth, the sacrifice of their innocent blood, which – as has always been – behind a bronze gate preserves, for eternity, the light of the world of the living.