76 . To Giusuè Carducci

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 wretch—that 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 she—ah me!—her name is—ITALY!

Most glorious and most woful of all names!

Whose sweet sound the whole world’s vast heart inflames

So chanted by her last great son—by thee.