Torino la Citta Magica

150 Years of Unity of Italy celebrated also in Torino, the first capital of United Italy

Italian lyrics by Goffredo Mameli a poet from Risorgimento

Fratelli d’Italia,
l’Italia s’è desta,
dell’elmo di Scipio
s’è cinta la testa.
Dov’è la Vittoria?
Le porga la chioma,
ché schiava di Roma
Iddio la creò.
CORO:
Stringiamci a coorte,
siam pronti alla morte.
Siam pronti alla morte,
l’Italia chiamò.
Stringiamci a coorte,
siam pronti alla morte.
Siam pronti alla morte,
l’Italia chiamò!
Noi fummo da secoli[1]
calpesti, derisi,
perché non siam popolo,
perché siam divisi.
Raccolgaci un’unica
bandiera, una speme:
di fonderci insieme
già l’ora suonò.
CORO
Uniamoci, amiamoci,
l’unione e l’amore
rivelano ai popoli
le vie del Signore.
Giuriamo far libero
il suolo natio:
uniti, per Dio,
chi vincer ci può?
CORO
Dall’Alpi a Sicilia
Dovunque è Legnano,
Ogn’uom di Ferruccio
Ha il core, ha la mano,
I bimbi d’Italia
Si chiaman Balilla,
Il suon d’ogni squilla
I Vespri suonò.
CORO
Son giunchi che piegano
Le spade vendute:
Già l’Aquila d’Austria
Le penne ha perdute.
Il sangue d’Italia,
Il sangue Polacco,
Bevé, col cosacco,
Ma il cor le bruciò.
CORO

English translation
Brothers of Italy,
Italy has woken,
Bound Scipio’s helmet
Upon her head.
Where is Victory?
Let her bow down,[2]
For God created her
Slave of Rome.
CHORUS:
Let us join in a cohort,
We are ready to die.[3]
We are ready to die,
Italy has called.
Let us join in a cohort,
We are ready to die.
We are ready to die,
Italy has called!
We were for centuries
downtrodden, derided,
because we are not one people,
because we are divided.
Let one flag, one hope
gather us all.
The hour has struck
for us to unite.
CHORUS
Let us unite, let us love one another,
For union and love
Reveal to the people
The ways of the Lord.
Let us swear to set free
The land of our birth:
United, for God,
Who can overcome us?
CHORUS
From the Alps to Sicily,
Legnano is everywhere;
Every man has the heart
and hand of Ferruccio
The children of Italy
Are all called Balilla;
Every trumpet blast
sounds the Vespers.
CHORUS
Mercenary swords,
they’re feeble reeds.
The Austrian eagle
Has already lost its plumes.
The blood of Italy
and the Polish blood
It drank, along with the Cossack,
But it burned its heart.
CHORUS

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