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