Thanks be to God, my feet are now addressed,
Proud Italy, at least to visit thee,
After six weary years, since destiny
With weeping eyes, with look and heart depressed,
Upon my natal soil I bend the knee,
While hope and joy my troubled spirit flee,
And anguish, rage, and terror fill my breast.
I turn me, then, the snowy Alps to tread,
And seek the Gaul, more kindly prompt to greet
The child of other lands, than thou art thine:
Here, in these shady vales, mine old retreat,
I lay, in solitude, mine aching head,
Since Heaven decrees, and thou dost so incline.
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