At Cosenza nightly lisping,
from Busento muted songs,

Answer echoing from the waters
with its trills each note prolongs.

Each way, up and down the river
valliant Goths their shadows cast,

Grieving o'er their leader Alaric,
now in death still unsurpassed.

All too soon and far from home
would he be laid to final rest

With his shoulders, face and neck
by locks of youth still blond, caressed. 

And along Busento's banks
feverishly in turns they raced 

To divert the river's current;
a new riverbed they traced.

In the hollow, fully drained
a still deeper bed they forced; 

Lowered deep into this trench
the dead warrior, armed and horsed;

Then again with earth they covered
him with his possessions brave,

That the tall grass from the river
grow out from the hero's grave. 

For a second time diverted
to restore the river's home, 

With full force in their old bed
Busento's billows sprayed their foam. 

And a choir of men were singing,
"Sleep an honored hero's slumber!

Never shall vile Roman greed
your final resting place encumber!" 

This they sang; the hymns of praise 
resounded from the Gothic host;

Speed them on, Busento billows,
speed them on from coast to coast!