Nabucco - BZN, Джузеппе Верди

Va, pensiero, sull’ali dorate

Va, ti posa sui clivi, sui colli

Ove olezzano tepide e molli

L’aure doci, del suolo natal!

Del giordano le rive saluta

Di sionne le torri atterrate

Oh, mia patria si belle perduta

Oh, membranza si cara e fatal!

Arpa d’or dei fatidici vati

Perche muta dal salince pendi?

Le memorie nel petto raccendi

Ci favella del tempo che fu!

O simile di solima ai fati

Traggi un suono di crudo lamento

O t’ispiri il signore un concento

Che ne infonda al partire virtu!

Che ne infonda al partire virtu!

Che ne infonda al partire virtu!

Al patire virtu!

Go, thought, on golden wings

Go, it rests you on the hills, on the hills

Where they smell tepid and soft

The doci aure, of the native soil!

Greetings from the Jordanian shores

Of sionne the towers landed

Oh, my homeland is beautifully lost

Oh, dear and fatal memoir!

Harp d’or of the fateful vati

Why does it change from the salince slopes?

The memories in the chest you collect

Tell us about the time that was!

Or similar of solima to the fates

You hear a sound of crude moaning

Or let the gentleman inspire you a concento

What do you give virtue to when you leave!

What do you give virtue to when you leave!

What do you give virtue to when you leave!

To suffer virtue!