Italia mia, ben ch’el parlar
Sia indarno a le piaghe mortali
Che nel’ bel corpo tuo spesse veggio
Piacem’ almen’ ch’ e’ mia sospir’ sien quali
Sper’ il Tever’ et l’Arno
E’l Pove doglioso et grave hor seggio.
Rector’ del ciel’, io cheggio
Che la pieta che ti conduce in terra
Ti volgha al tuo dilect’ almo paese:
Vedi, Signor’ cortese,
Di che levi cagion che crudel guerra
I cor’, ch’ indur’ et serra
Marte superb’ et fero
Apri tu, padr’ e’ntenerisci et snoda;
Ivi fa ch’el tuo vero
Qual’ io mi sia per la mia lingua s’oda.
Canzoniere 128 (v.1)
English translation
My Italy, though words cannot heal
the mortal wounds
so dense, I see on your lovely flesh,
at least I pray that my sighs might bring
some hope to the Tiber and the Arno,
and the Po, that sees me now sad and grave.
Ruler of Heaven, I hope
that the pity that brought You to earth,
will turn you towards your soul-delighting land.
Lord of courtesy, see
such cruel wars for such slight causes:
and hearts, hardened and closed
by proud, fierce Mars,
and open them, Father, soften them, set them free:
and, whatever I may be, let your Truth
be heard in my speech.