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The world is waking into light; The dark and sullen night hath flown: Life lives and re-assumes its might, And nature smiles upon her throne. And the Lark, Hark! She gives welcome to the day, In a merry, merry, lay, Tra la! lira, lira, lira, la!
The church and convent were afterwards pulled down on account of the siege, and the picture was carried into the city and placed in the Priests' Hospital in the Via di S. Gallo, and then from there into the Convent of S. Marco, and finally into S. Jacopo tra Fossi on the Canto degli Alberti, where it stands at the present day on the high-altar.
Or one might make the words the Backbone of a triolet, only one would have to split them up to fit it into the metre; or one might make it the decisive line in a sonnet; or one might make a pretty little lyric of it, to the tune of 'Madame la Marquise' 'Huit francs et dix centimes, Tra la la, la la la.
The colouring is varied in the extreme, and the lights well defined. These two pictures, and the Disputa, painted later, were removed to the church of S. Jacopo tra Fossi, when the convent was demolished in 1529. They were still there in 1677, when Bocchi wrote his Bellezze di Firenze, but the Christ appearing to Mary Magdalen is said to be now in the church of the Covoni in the Casentino.
I noticed one man, evidently a city employe, in a rough white suit, busily cleaning the street with a broom and singing to himself: "How does the little busy bee improve the shining hour." Another employe, who was handling a little hose, was singing, "Little drops of water, little grains of sand, Tra, la, la, la, la la, Prohibition's grand." "Why do they sing?" I asked. "Are they crazy?"
Nacque una scarica generale. Grande panico tra gli spettatori. Nessun ferito. TRANSLATION. "Revolveration in Theater. Nobody hurt." It is bettable that that harmless cataclysm in the theater of the opera of Wallace, Indiana, excited not a person in Europe but me, and so came near to not being worth cabling to Florence by way of France. But it does excite me.
The clock was revealed, a great circle of blue and white standing upon short, brass legs, and ticking loudly, "Speranza mia, non piangere, E il marinar fedele, Vedrai tornar dall' Africa Tra un anno queste vele " bawled the little boy from Naples.
"Soldiers marching up the street, They keep the time; They look sublime! Hear them play Die Wacht am Rhein! They call them Schneider's Band. Tra la la la, la!" The length of Main Street and all the Square resounded with the rattle of vehicles of every kind. Since earliest dawn they had been pouring into the village, a long procession on every country road.
And in this fashion, while the thin, dark man and the large, blond woman warbled dulcetly out on the stage and the other professionals followed in their turns, did Charley Welsh put Edna wise, giving her much miscellaneous and superfluous information and much that she stored away for the Sunday Intelligencer. "Well, tra la loo," he said suddenly. "There's his highness chasin' you up.
"Tra la la la!" sings Redjacket, undismayed. And he takes a couple of dance-steps on his log. "He's no greenhorn, anyhow," the crowd agree. And some of them glance at Olof to see how he takes their praise of his rival. But Olof does not seem to heed; he is watching the water with a certain impatience no more. Just then Redjacket's log strikes a sunken rock, and is thrust backward.
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