Va, pensiero [English translation]

Go, thought, on wings of gold;

go settle upon the slopes and the hills,

where, soft and mild, the sweet airs

of our native land smell fragrant!

Greet the banks of the Jordan

and Zion's toppled towers...

Oh, my country, so beautiful and lost!

Oh, remembrance, so dear and so fatal!

Golden harp of the prophetic seers,

why dost thou hang mute upon the willow?

Rekindle our bosom's memories,

and speak to us of times gone by!

Either, akin to the fate of Jerusalem,

give forth a sound of crude lamentation,

or let the Lord inspire you a harmony of voices

which may instill virtue to suffering.