Egualmente apprestato ad ogni sorte, Si prometta vittoria, e sprezzi morte. - Torquato Tasso

Oh meraviglia! Amor, ch’a pena è nato,
già grande vola, e già trionfa armato.

About the hill lay other islands small,
Where other rocks, crags, cliffs, and mountains stood,
The Isles Fortunate these elder time did call,
To which high Heaven they reigned so kind and good,
And of his blessings rich so liberal,
That without tillage earth gives corn for food,
And grapes that swell with sweet and precious wine
There without pruning yields the fertile vine. The olive fat there ever buds and flowers,
The honey-drops from hollow oaks distil,
The falling brook her silver streams downpours
With gentle murmur from their native hill,
The western blast tempereth with dews and showers
The sunny rays, lest heat the blossoms kill,
The fields Elysian, as fond heathen sain,
Were there, where souls of men in bliss remain.

In che picciolo cerchio, e fra che nude
Solitudini è stretto il vostro fasto!
Lei, come isola, il mare intorno chiude;
E lui, ch'or Ocean chiamate or vasto,
Nulla eguale a tai nomi ha in sè di magno;
Ma è bassa palude, e breve stagno.