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But the song once it had appealed to her. Once she had leaned down to hear it, she had leaned down over the misty sea, her soul had followed it out over the sea. "Oh, dolce luna bianca de l' estate Mi fugge il sonno accanto a la Marina: Mi destan le dolcissime serate Gli occhi di Rosa e il mar di Mergellina." Those were the real words. And what voice had sung them?
Then she put out the light, and lay awake so long that when a boat came round the cliff from the Saint's Pool to the open sea, in the hour before the dawn, she heard the soft splash of the oars in the water and the sound of a boy's voice singing. "Oh, dolce luna bianca de l' Estate Mi fugge il sonno accanto a la marina: Mi destan le dolcissime serate Gli occhi di Rosa e il mar di Mergellina."
The boat to which Ruffo belonged, going out of the Pool to the fishing, passed at this moment slowly upon the sea beneath the terrace, and from the misty darkness his happy voice came up to them in the song of Mergellina which he loved: "Oh, dolce luna bianca de l' Estate Mi fugge il sonno accanto a la marina: Mi destan le dolcissime serate Gli occhi di Rosa e il mar di Mergellina."
She was recalled by hearing a very faint voice singing, scarcely more than humming, beneath her. "Oh, dolce luna bianca de l' Estate Mi fugge il sonno accanto a la marina: Mi destan le dolcissime serate Gli occhi di Rosa e il mar di Mergellina." It was the same song that Artois had heard that day as he leaned on the balcony of the Ristorante della Stella.
To the winds this wretched ember Of a fire that falls so low! "Hum! don't much like that. Tum-te-tum-tum accanto al fuoco heigho! I don't want to show off, Dick or to break down so I won't try that. 'Oh! but for thee, oh! but for thee, I might have been a happy wife, And nursed a baby on my knee, And never blushed to give it life.
To the winds this wretched ember Of a fire that falls so low! "Hum! don't much like that. Tum-te-tum-tum accanto al fuoco heigho! I don't want to show off, Dick or to break down so I won't try that. 'Oh! but for thee, oh! but for thee, I might have been a happy wife, And nursed a baby on my knee, And never blushed to give it life.
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