Go, thought, on golden wings
Go, settle on the slopes, on the hills
Where the sweet and soft breezes
Of our native land smell warm and soft!

Salute the banks of the Jordan
And Zion's tumbled towers
Oh my homeland, so beautiful and lost!
Oh remembrance, so dear and so fatal!

Golden harp of the prophetic bards
Why do you hang silent from the willows?
Rekindle the memories in our hearts
Tell us about the times that were!
Oh, similar to the fate of Jerusalem
Draw a sound of harsh lament
Or may the Lord inspire you a harmony
That infuses virtue to suffering
That infuses virtue to suffering
That infuses virtue to suffering
To suffering, virtue.

CONSULTER LES PAROLES ORIGINALES