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 wretchthat 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 sheah me!her name isITALY!
Most glorious and most woful of all names!
Whose sweet sound the whole worlds vast heart inflames
So chanted by her last great sonby thee
To Giusue Carducci
written byGeorge William Lewis Marshall-Hall
© George William Lewis Marshall-Hall