Nabucco

Go, thought, on wings of gold
Go, settle upon the slopes, upon the hills
Where warm and soft
The sweet breezes of our native land smell!
Greet the banks of the Jordan
And the towers of Zion
Oh, my country so beautiful and lost
Oh, remembrance so dear and so fatal!
Golden harp of the prophetic bards
Why do you hang mute upon the willow?
Rekindle the memories in our hearts
Tell us about the time that has gone!
Or, similar to the fate of Solomon
Draw a sound of harsh lament
Or may the Lord inspire you a harmony
That may infuse virtue to our departure!
That may infuse virtue to our departure!
That may infuse virtue to our departure!
To our suffering virtue!