150 years of Italy O PATRIA MIA
Giacomo Leopardi
O my country, I see
walls and arches and columns and statues and herms
Towers of our ancestors,
But I do not see the glory,
I do not see the laurel and the iron laden with
Whence our fathers of old. Or made helpless
Bare your forehead and bare chest monsters, how many wounds
Alas,
What livid that blood! oh I see what you,
Formosissima woman!
I ask the sky and the world: say you say;
who reduced it to that? And this is worse,
That chain has both her arms laden,
Yes, her hair disheveled and without a veil
sits forlorn and neglected on the ground, hiding his face
Among the knees, and weeps.
Weep, whence you that well, my Italy,
The people born to conquer
And the auspicious destiny and in the estuary. If they were your eyes
two live sources,
Never could the tears
adjustments to your damage and the shame;
you were a woman are now the poor maid.
who speaks or writes about you, What
, remembering your past glory,
not say it was great already, now is not that?
Why, why? where is the ancient force?
Where the arms and the value and constancy? Who
discinse the sword?
Who betrayed you? what art or what trouble
0 so what might, Valse
to strip the robe and the gold bands? How or when you fell
From such a height so low spot? No
battle for you? No you do not defend
de 'yours? The weapons, the weapons here: I just
fight, only I procomberò.
Give me, O heavens, that fire
Agl'italici breasts My blood.
Where are your children?. I hear the sound of weapons and chariots and
of voices and timbales
In districts aliens
Pugnano your children.
Wait, Italy, wait. I see, and Parma,
A fluttering of soldiers and horses,
And smoke and dust, and flashing swords
As between fog bursts. Neither
comfort you and trembling lights
folds not suffer the doubtful event?
A battle that in those fields
The gioventude ited? 0 gods, or gods
Pugnani for other land itali Acciari.
Oh wretched man who is off at war,
home shores is not for them and for the pious
dear wife and children, but others as enemies
For other people, and can not say Alma died
homeland,
life that gave me so here I give you.
Oh dear and fortunate and blessed
The old age, death
throng to the home nations team
And you always honored and glorious
0 Thessalian narrow
Where to Persia and the fate was far less strong
poch'alme of frank and generous!
believe that plants and rocks and the wave
And the mountains in your temporary
with indistinct voice
Narrin since all that shore
Cover the undefeated ranks
De 'bodies were ch'alla Greece devotees.
Then, vile and vicious,
Xerxes to the Hellespont to flight, the last
Done mockery grandchildren;
and neck of Antela,
dying when he escaped death by the holy host, Simonides
Salia,
Watching the ether and the navy and the ground.
and tears shed both her cheeks,
, my chest heaving, and the shaky foot
Toglicasi man in the pound: Blessed
you
Ch'offriste the chest to the enemy spears
For the love of this lady, who to you Sol gave it
you that Greece colas, and the world admires
anus and it 'perils
What great love young girls minds, nell'acerbo fate
What drew you love?
How happy or children
The last hour I thought, so delightful to step
Correste tears and hard? Parea
that to dance and go to death
Each de 'contents, or gorgeous banquet:
But v'attendea
the dark Tartarus, and ond'a dead;
Neither were your wives or children near the hole on the rugged shore
When
Without kisses you died and without tears.
But not without 'Lost
horrible pain and immortal angst. How
lion within a herd of bulls
Or jump to the one in the back and yes digs
With your back teeth, bite
Or this side or the thigh;
Tal lost among hordes raged
The Wrath of 'Greek breasts and virtue.
Ve 'horses and riders on their backs;
View hinder the vanquished
Escape wagons and tents falling, and run between
' Primieri
Pale and disheveled it tyrant
ve 'as infusions and color of the barbaric blood
the Greek heroes, Lost
caused to the infinite sorrow,
Gradually losers from the wounds,
The one above the other falls. Oh alive, oh alive: Blessed
you
While the world is spoken or write. Before
uprooted, falling into the sea,
Spente IMI strideran stars,
That memory and your love
spend or shrunken.
Your tomb is an altar, and showing here
Verran mothers to parvoli
the fine footsteps of your blood. Behold, I prostrate myself,
0 blessed, soil
And kiss these stones and these clods,
What hay praised and eternally clear from one
the other pole.
Ah I were with you while below, blood and soft
Fosse my ground this soul.
What if fate is different, and does not allow for that I
Greece mororibondi lights
Close prostrate at war, so the Verecondo
Fama your bard
May doeth for the future, the gods willing, endure
So what for, your last.
