What though the waves roll awfully before me—
Quicksands and tempests — from the Ocean border
Calmly I launch me, all my sails unfurling,
Laughing at danger.
Peace has returned, I drop my quiet anchor,
Beautiful visions have no power to charm me—
Welcome the wanderer to thy cheerful bosom,
Land of retirement!
Are not my meadows verdant as Tarentum?
Are not my fields as lovely as Larissa?
Flows not the Tiber with majestic beaming
Through my dark forest?
Have I not vines and golden corn-ears dancing
In the gay winds, and doth not heavenly freedom
Dwell in my dwelling?—Yes! the gods have given me
All I could envy.
Fate may indulge its infinite caprices.
Sheltered from want, unconquerable courage
Trains me to look secure, serene, contented,
Up to the heavens.
Thou, thou, my lyre! if thou dispense thy blessings
Bright on the tortuous pathway of existence,
Deserts shall smile, wastes wax them into gladness,
Charm'd by thy music.
Place me among the eternal snows of Greenland,
Place me among the burning sands of Zaara,
There shall your bosoms warm me, gentle Muses,
Here your breath freshen.