Risvegliate in vano ’l cor che non puo liberarsi.”

Wherefore and whither bear’st thou up my spirit,

On eagle wings, through every plume that thrill?

It hath no crown of victory to inherit—

Be still, triumphant harmony! be still!

Thine are no sounds for earth, thus proudly swelling

Into rich floods of joy. It is but pain

To mount so high, yet find on high no dwelling,

To sink so fast, so heavily again!

No sounds for earth? Yes, to young chieftain dying