O RICH and splendid soul that overflowest 
 With light and fire caught from thy native skies!? 
 Whose latent storm is lurid in thine eyes 
When with august and bended brows thou throwest 
 
Thy Jove-like bolt upon the world below. 
 Woe, woe the wretch?that ever he was born! 
 Whom once the fierce sirocco of thy scorn 
Encircles, deadly, withering,?Ah woe! 
 
But thrice-blest She, whom with one golden word 
 Thou settest in the firmament of heaven, 
 A happy, deathless star;?a wonder given 
To awe-eyed mortals while thy voice is heard. 
 
And she?ah me!?her name is?ITALY! 
 Most glorious and most woful of all names! 
 Whose sweet sound the whole world?s vast heart inflames 
So chanted by her last great son?by thee