Go, thought, on golden wings
Go, it will place you on the slopes, on the hills
Where they smell warm and soft
The sweet breezes of the native soil!
Del Giordano greets the banks
The fallen towers of Sionne
O my homeland, so beautiful and lost!
O memory, so dear and fatal!
Golden harp of the fateful prophets
Why does it change from the willow tree? />O may the Lord inspire you with a concentration
May he instill virtue in suffering
May he instill virtue in suffering
Virtue in suffering!