I

 
Divine spirits, whose powdery ashes lie
Under this weight of ruins, buried deep;
Yet not the fame, your living verse will keep
From Hades’ halls; fame that will never die;

If we have power to make our human cry
Downwards, from here, to that region leap,
Let mine pierce the abyss, this dark steep,
That you might hear my voice from on high.

Three times circling beneath heaven’s veil,
In devotion, round your tombs, I hail
You, with loud summons; thrice on you I call:

And, while your ancient fury I invoke,
Here, as though I in sacred terror spoke,
I’ll sing your glory, beauteous above all.