O thou of islands j**el and of half-islands,
Fair Sirmio, whatever o'er the lakes' clear rim
Or waste of ocean, Neptune holds, a two-fold pow'r;
What joy have I to see thee, and to gaze what glee!
Scarce yet believing Thunia past, the fair champaign
Bithunian, yet in safety thee to greet once more.
From cares to part us—where is any joy like this?
Then drops the soul her fardel, as the travel-tir'd
World-weary wand'rer touches home, returns, sinks down
In joy to slumber on the bed desir'd so long.
This meed, this only counts for e'en an age all toil.
O take a welcome, lovely Sirmio, thy lord's,
And greet him happy; greet him all the lake Lydian;
Laugh out whatever laughter at the hearth rings clear.