peninsularum Sirmio, insularumque ocelle.

Sweet Sirmio! thou, the very eye

  Of all peninsulas and isles,

That in our lakes of silver lie,

  Or sleep enwreathed by Neptune's smiles—

How gladly back to thee I fly!

  Still doubting, asking—can it be

That I have left Bithynia's sky,

  And gaze in safety upon thee?

Oh! what is happier than to find

  Our hearts at ease, our perils past;

When, anxious long, the lightened mind

  Lays down its load of care at last:

When tired with toil o'er land and deep,

  Again we tread the welcome floor

Of our own home, and sink to sleep

  On the long-wished-for bed once more.

This, this it is that pays alone

  The ills of all life's former track.—

Shine out, my beautiful, my own

  Sweet Sirmio, greet thy master back.

And thou, fair Lake, whose water quaffs

  The light of heaven like Lydia's sea,

Rejoice, rejoice—let all that laughs

  Abroad, at home, laugh out for me!