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 seers
Why do you hang silently from the willow?
Rekindle the memories in our hearts
Tell us about the times gone by!
O similar to the fate of Jerusalem
Sound a harsh lament
Or may the Lord inspire you a harmony
That may infuse virtue to our suffering
That may infuse virtue to our suffering
That may infuse virtue to our suffering
To our suffering virtue!