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“... Nessun maggior dolore

Che ricordarsi del tempo felice

Nella miseria...”

Inferno, V, 121.

FAR from the sea-girt City that I love,

My wandering ways by care attended lie;

Cold is the azure of this foreign sky,

And strange these clustered stars that burn above.

Out from this loveless land would I remove

To seek thy spring Pierian, never-dry,

Thou thrice-crowned City! Hear my fainting cry.

Let not my passionate longing fruitless prove!

Would I once more might see the dome of gold

Burning aloft, beneath my native sky!

The river, winding near my home of old,

And once again to breathe before I die,

The evening breeze, may it be granted me,

In that fair city by the distant sea!...