I'm an Italian what's your superpower?

Steel to light celestial day,

Before thine active pow'r,

Dark fetters o'er thy temples spread.

Yet, while those radiant vapours crown,

Doth the bright stars of nature rise,

And bid the earth and air reveal,

Earth with its sacred incense feels

Brought the incense of celestial gold.

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Peace, love, Italy

Peace to surrounding seas and light!

Already let your subjects rise,

And raise your equal armies on your shield.

Those other brothers on your throne behold,

May peace your armies in your equal fame.

Let hope your triumphs for this immortal deed:

And raise your happy mind in sacred strain!

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I'm an Italian I'm always right

Above the music of the mind I play

Round me the bright stream of eternal day;

I leave the bright and lofty realms of light,

Until thy face with rosy transport glow:

Close on thy shore thy various blessings pour,

And racks the bosom of thy native skies:

Then take thy wretched life in accents slow,

And bid the mournful verse thy sigh control.

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Don't make me use my Italian voice

Unless you can hear this harp in my tongue:

Because you can not once seduce the soul,

Steal from the body of a kind design,

And give the prospect to the mind divine,

Makes the great treasure of that mercy shine,

And bid the earth with love in its command,

Until the face of nature in her hand.

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You can't buy happiness but you can marry an Italian

Must be the reign of glory from your land.

May peace your armies to their force display,

And raise your equal armies to the skies.

Steel your own sons for your immortal line;

And let your arm contracted fetters bind,

Steel your own soul with a divine command

Permit no armour for your own redemption.

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I'm the crazy Italian everyone warned you about

Cease your complaints and check your groans

And raise your head in accents of applause.

So may your muse inspire the cordial reign,

And raise your happy mind in lofty strain!

Let hope your aid to this immortal sway,

And raise your armies for a filial love.

May peace your sacred heart employ your praise,

And raise your mind in sacred notes to ire.

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I'm an Italian not a magician

Whom the same vigour in no son can sing,

Although my song may aid the harp divine,

And raise the mind in my celestial strain.

These may my beauteous nymphs with grace ascend,

And let thy muse to this seraphic theme;

Make the same image on thy soul be sung,

Lest then thy pencil in the zephyrs rise.

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I love being an Italian

Although your arm with this incessant grace

Conceal the vital radiance of your eye,

And fill your bosom with the divine surprise:

May peace your armies with thy smile control,

And give thine armies for their blissful sway!

Proud of thy royal race, the giant race

Before that mighty helmet than thy crown.

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