Non t’accostar all’urna,
Che l’osse mie rinserra,
Questa pietosa terra
E’sacra al mio dolor.
Odio gli affanni tuoi.
Ricuso i tuoi pianti:
Che giovano agli estinti
Due lagrime, o due fior?
Empia! Dovevi allora
Porgermi un fil d’aita,
Quando traéa la vita
Nell’ansia e nei sospir.
A che d’inutil pianto
Assordi la foresta?
Rispetta un’ombra mesta
E lasciala domir.
Do not approach the urn,
that encloses my bones/ashes;
This holy ground
Is sacred to my sorrow.
I hate your anguish.
I refuse your hyacinths;
What use to the dead
are a few tears and a few flowers?
Cruel one! You should have come
to help me,
When my life was pulled
Into anxiety and sighing.
Why do you deafen the forest
With useless crying?
Respect a ghost sad,
And let it sleep.