Hanno may refer to:
People named Hanno:
Hanno (Italian: Annone; c. 1510 – 8 June 1516) was the pet white elephant given by King Manuel I of Portugal to Pope Leo X (born Giovanni de' Medici) at his coronation. Hanno, an Indian elephant, came to Rome in 1514 with the Portuguese ambassador Tristão da Cunha and quickly became the Pope's favorite animal. Hanno died two years later from complications of a treatment for constipation with gold-enriched laxative.
King Manuel had either received him as a gift from the King of Cochin, or had asked Afonso de Albuquerque, his viceroy in India, to purchase him. Hanno was said to be white in colour, and arrived by ship from Lisbon to Rome in 1514, aged about four years, and was kept initially in an enclosure in the Belvedere courtyard, then moved to a specially constructed building between St. Peter's Basilica and the Apostolic Palace, near the Borgo Sant'Angelo (a road in the rione of Borgo). His arrival was commemorated in poetry and art. Pasquale Malaspina wrote:
Hanno is a lunar crater that lies near the southeastern limb of the Moon, along the western edge of the Mare Australe. About a crater diameter to the southwest is the prominent crater Pontécoulant.
This is a heavily worn crater formation with an outer rim that has been battered and pock-marked by small impacts. A small crater attached to the north-northeastern rim forms a depression in the side. The inner walls are nearly featureless except for a few small craterlets, and the interior floor is likewise level and battered by tiny craters.
By convention these features are identified on lunar maps by placing the letter on the side of the crater midpoint that is closest to Hanno.
Wenn die bunten Fahnen wehen, geht die Fahrt wohl über's Meer.
Woll'n wir ferne Lande sehen, fällt der Abschied uns nicht schwer.
Leuchtet die Sonne, ziehen die Wolken,
klingen die Lieder weit über's Meer.
Sonnenschein ist unsere Wonne, wie er lacht am lichten Tag.
Doch es geht auch ohne Sonne, wenn sie mal nicht scheinen mag.
Blasen die Stürme, brausen die Wellen,
Hei, die wilden Wandervögel ziehen wieder durch die Nacht
singen ihre alten Lieder, daß die Welt vom Schlaf erwacht.
Kommt dann der Morgen, sind sie schon weiter,
über die Berge wer weiß wohin?
Wo die blauen Gipfel ragen, lockt so mancher steile Pfad,
immer vorwärts, ohne Zagen, bald sind wir dem Ziel genaht.
Schneefelder blinken, schimmern von ferne her,