Va Pensiero

Go, thought, on wings of gold
Go, settle upon the slopes and the hills
Where warm and soft
The sweet airs of our native land smell!
Greet the banks of the Jordan
And Zion's toppled towers
O my country, so beautiful and lost!
O memory, 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 by!
O similar to the fate of Solima
Weeping sound a harsh lament
Or may the Lord inspire you a harmony
That may infuse virtue to suffering
That may infuse virtue to suffering
To suffering virtue!