I'm an Italian I'm Always Right

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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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