The God who under crimson waves Who put the hammer into Jael's O loved Italia, where the cry Was heard, and where the nations are With hope and faith endued, Where liberty is in full flower Or ripens secretly, Where tears flow for misfortune, there's No heart but beats for thee! How often from the Alps hast sought A friendly standard raised, How often on the empty waste Of the two seas hast gazed! Behold, sprung from thy womb, ranged round Thy sacred colours three, Strong, armed with their own grief, thy sons Risen to strike for thee! To-day, O valiant ones, let wrath Long hidden be displayed, And for Italia triumph, in Your hands her fate is laid! Risen through you we shall behold Her midst the nations placed, Or humbled, mocked, enslaved, and 'neath A bitter rod disgraced. O days of our redemption, O Unhappy he alway che da lunge, dal labbro d' altrui come un uomo straniero, le udrà ! che a' suoi figli narrandole un giorno, dovrà dir sospirando: "Io non c'era "; che la santa vittrice bandiera salutata quel di non avrà. I fu. Siccome immobile, dato il mortal sospiro, stette la spoglia immemore orba di tanto spiro, così percossa, attonita la terra al nunzio sta, muta pensando all' ultima ora dell' uom fatale; nè sa quando una simile Lui folgorante in soglio vergin di servo encomio e di codardo oltraggio, sorge or comosso al subito sparir di tanto raggio ; e scoglie all' urna un cantico che forse non morrà. Who hears of you from other lips Telling his children of you, needs H E is no more. As reft of breath The heedless body lay at last On whom such boundless hopes were cast, Immobile in the calm of death, So, by the tidings, in amaze The earth is held, and with her gaze Of this great spirit; if again Like unto his, she doth not know. My muse, seeing him most gloriously Was still, nor in the clam'rous tone Free from all taint of servile praise And cowardly insult, let me rise, Now this bright star falls from the skies, As one who piteous homage pays; A garland on his urn, let lie This song which haply will not die! Dall' Alpi alle Piramidi, dal Manzanarre al Reno, di quel securo il fulmine tenea dietro al baleno ; scoppiò da Scilla al Tanai, dall' uno all' altro mar. Fu vera gloria? Ai posteri l' ardua sentenza: nui chiniam la fronte al Massimo fattor, che volle in lui del creator suo spirito più vasta orma stampar. La procellosa e trepida gioia d'un gran disegno, l'ansia d'un cor che indocile serve, pensando al regno; e il giunge, e tiene un premio ch' era follia sperar ; tutto ei provò la gloria maggior dopo il periglio, la fuga e la vittoria, la reggia e il tristo esiglio : due volte nella polvere, due volte sull' altar. Ei si nomò: due secoli l' un contro l' altro armato, sommessi a lui si volsero, come aspettando il fato ; ei fe' silenzio, ed arbitro s'assise in mezzo a lor. E sparve, e i dì nell' ozio chiuse in si breve sponda, segno d'immensa invidia e di pietà profonda, From Alp to hoary Pyramid, From Manzanare to the Rhine, From Scylla to the Don, sure sign His vivid lightnings were that did Foreshow the tempest that would be, His winged bolt from sea to sea. Is his true fame? Posterity The arduous verdict will declare; We can but bow in reverence where The Eternal Craftsman mightily Conceived this soul that it might stand To show the marvels of His hand. The tremulous, impassioned joy Of schemes conveyed with master-art, The strife of a subjected heart Which dreamed a sceptre for a toy, Nor was denied the godly prize Before a world's incredulous eyes; All these he knew; untold renown More glorious for the peril passed, Flight, then the victory at last, The pains of exile doffed the crown ; Twice humbled to the very dust, Twice gifted with an empire's trust. He spoke and lo, two centuries, He called for silence, and then grave |