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The song (also known as "Tripoli bel suol d'amore") was made by Giovanni Corvetto and Colombino Arona in 1911 right before the start of the Italo-Turkish War. The song was made to propagate the italian intention of annexing Tripolitania from the Ottomans into an Italian colony.
Lyrics in Italian:
Sai dove s'annida più florido il suol?
Sai dove sorride più magico il sol?
Sul mar che ci lega con l'Africa d'or,
la stella d'Italia ci addita un tesor.
Ci addita un tesor!
Tripoli, bel suol d'amore,
ti giunga dolce questa mia canzon!
Sventoli il tricolore,
sulle tue torri al rombo del cannon!
Naviga, o corazzata:
benigno è il vento e dolce la stagion.
Tripoli, terra incantata,
sarai italiana al rombo del cannon!
A te, marinaio, sia l'onda sentier.
Sia guida Fortuna per te, bersaglier.
Và e spera, soldato, vittoria è colà,
hai teco l'Italia che gridati: “Và!”
Che gridati: “Và!”
Tripoli, bel suol d'amore,
ti giunga dolce questa mia canzon!
Sventoli il tricolore
sulle tue torri al rombo del cannon!
Naviga, o corazzata:
benigno è il vento e dolce la stagion.
Tripoli, terra incantata,
sarai italiana al rombo del cannon!
Al vento africano che Tripoli assal,
già squillan le trombe, la marcia real.
A Tripoli i turchi non regnano più:
già il nostro vessillo issato è lassù.
Issato è lassù!
Tripoli, bel suol d'amore,
ti giunga dolce questa mia canzon!
Sventoli il tricolore
sulle tue torri al rombo del cannon!
Naviga, o corazzata:
benigno è il vento e dolce la stagion.
Tripoli, terra incantata,
SARAI ITALIANA AL ROMBO DEL CANNON!
Lyrics in English:
Do you know where the soil is the most florid?
Do you know where the sun smiles more magically?
On the sea that binds us with golden Africa,
the star of Italy points to us a treasure.
Points to us a treasure!
Tripoli, fair soil of love,
may this song of mine reach you sweetly!
Wave the tricolour,
on your towers to the roar of the cannon!
Navigate, oh battleship:
benign is the wind and sweet is the season.
Tripoli, enchanted land,
will be Italian at the roar of the cannon!
To you, sailor, let the wave be a path to you.
Let luck be your guide, for you bersagliere.
Do and hope, soldier, victory is there,
you have Italy with you that shouts: “Go!”
That shouts: “Go!”
Tripoli, fair soil of love,
may this song of mine reach you sweetly!
Wave the tricolour,
on your towers to the roar of the cannon!
Navigate, oh battleship:
benign is the wind and sweet is the season.
Tripoli, enchanted land,
will be Italian at the roar of the cannon!
To the African wind, that assaults Tripoli,
the trumpets are already ringin, the Royal March.
In Tripoli the Turks no longer reign:
Already our flag is hoisted up there.
Is hoisted up there!
Tripoli, fair soil of love,
may this song of mine reach you sweetly!
Wave the tricolour,
on your towers to the roar of the cannon!
Navigate, oh battleship:
benign is the wind and sweet is the season.
Tripoli, enchanted land,
WILL BE ITALIAN AT THE ROAR OF THE CANNON!
