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Guarda che bianca luna Il tempo passato Lascia ch' io pianga Dolce far niente Batti batti nel Masetto Da capo Ritardando Andante Piano Adagio Spaghetti Macaroni Polenta Non e ver Ah, non giunge Si la stanchezza Bravo Lento Presto Scherzo Dormi pura La ci darem la mano Celeste Aida Spirito gentil Voi che sapete Crispino e la Comare Pieta, Signore Tintoretto Boccaccio Garibaldi Mazzini Beatrice Cenci Gordigiani Santa Lucia Il mio tesoro Margherita Umberto Vittoria Colonna -Tutti frutti Botticelli Una furtiva lagrima.
Noi ha stato significato per diuerse lettere di quanto ha passato circa diuina naue nostra chiamata Iesus, sopra il quale in agiuto di Ricciardo Skegs, vno de gli nostri mercanti di essa gia morto, veniua vn certo Francese per sopra cargo, chiamato Romano Sonings, il quale per non esser ben portato secondo che doueua, volendo importer seco vn altro Francese debitore a certi vostri sensa pagarcene, per giusticia era appiccato col patron Inglese Andre Dier, che come simplice credendo al detto Francese, senza auedercene de la sua ria malitia non retornaua, quando da vostra magnifica Signoria gli era mandato. La morte del detto tristo Francese approuiamo como cosa benfatta. [Sidenote: Edoardo Barton et Mahumed Beg.] Ma al contrario, doue lei ha confiscato la detta naue e mercantia en essa, et fatto sciaui li marinari, como cosa molto contraria a li priuilegij dal Gran Signor quattro anni passati concessi, et da noi confirmati di parte de la Serenissima Magesta d'Ingilterra nostra patrona, e molto contraria a la liga del detto Gran Signor, il quale essendo dal sopra detto apieno informato, noi ha conceduto il suo regale mandamento di restitutione, la qual mandiamo a vostra magnifica Signoria col presente portator Edoardo Barton, nostro Secretario, et Mahumed Beg, droguemano di sua porta excelsa, con altre lettere del excellentissimo Vizir, et inuictissimo capitan di mar: chiedendo, tanto di parte del Gran Signor, quanto di sua Serenissima Magesta di V. S. M. che gli huomini, oglij, naue col fornimento, danare, et tutti altri beni qualconque, da lei et per vestro ordine da gli nostri tolti siano resi
So away they trooped, asking eager questions in their uncertain Italian but receiving no satisfactory reply until they reached the little office of the tax gatherer at the Catania Gate. "Ah, si, signorini mia," he answered, cheerfully, "il poco signore passato da stamattini." But he had not returned? Not yet. They looked at one another blankly.
No living thing was visible except a golden pheasant and scarlet flamingo strutting along the stone terrace at the foot of the lawn, and silence and repose seemed brooding over house and yard; when suddenly a rapid, passionate, piano-prelude smote the stillness till the air appeared to throb and quiver, and a thrillingly sweet yet intensely mournful voice sang the wailing strains of Addio del Passato.
Youth, in the wake of commerce, had ebbed from Kings Port, had flowed out from the silent, mourning houses, and sought life North and West, and wherever else life was to be found. Into my revery floated a phrase from a melodious and once favorite song: O tempo passato perche non ritorni? And John Mayrant? Why, then, had he tarried here himself?
Have you just come back from Rome? What have you heard? That I am false? oh, no! I will love you still Ah! I forgot! you also are dead, Guido! I remember now you cannot hurt me any more I am free and quite happy!" Smiling, she continued her song: "Ti saluto, Sol di Maggio Col two raggio ti saluto! Sei l'Apollo del passato Sei l'amore incoronato!"
Here is a rare rogue for you, said Eusthenes; here is a pure rogue, a rogue in grain, a rogue enough, a rogue and a half. He is resolved to make good the Lombardic proverb, Passato el pericolo, gabbato el santo. The devil was sick, the devil a monk would be; The devil was well, the devil a monk was he. How, after the storm, Pantagruel went on shore in the islands of the Macreons.
Conventional song-forms returned when poet and composer gave voice to the dying woman's lament for the happiness that was past and her agony of fear when she felt the touch of Death's icy hand; but where is melody more truthfully eloquent than in "Addio, del passato," and "Gran Dio! morir so giovane"? Is it within the power of instruments, no matter how great their number, or harmony with all the poignancy which it has acquired through the ingenious use of dissonance, or of broken phrase floating on an instrumental flood, to be more dramatically expressive than are these songs?
Her fingers strayed listlessly into a Nocturne; but from the dreamy expression of the face, upraised to gaze at the busts on the brackets above, it was evident that her thoughts had wandered far away from Addio del Passato, and were treading the drift-strewn strands of melancholy memory.
I ran up the mound to where John used to stand challenging the echo with his bugle.... O tempo passato! the absent may return and the distant be brought near, the dead be raised and in another world rejoin us, but a day that is gone is gone, and all eternity can give us back no single minute of the past!
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