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It is the very morning for a row on the cool glassy water, as we step joyfully into our boat with its four stalwart Phrygian-capped sailors in attendance: “Con questo zeffiro Cosi soave, Oh, com’ e bello Star su la nave! Mare si placido, Vento si caro, Scordar fa i triboli Al marinaro.”
"Amo il zeffiro, perche a lui suo nome confido," she sang, as she turned listlessly to go to her chamber; and despite what she had said and said with perfect sincerity to her adopted father it may be feared that the suo did not refer in the singer's mind to the Marchese Lamberto.
I longed so to have sung the words I had to utter for your ears to your ears only: `Amo il zeffiro, perche ad esso il tuo nome confido. Ah, Lamberto, if you knew how true that is. It is often how often the singer's duty to utter on the stage the words of passion. But what a thing it is a thing I never dreamed before to feel them as I utter them. The opera did not go badly, did it?
And then a scowl of displeasure came over his face as his glance lighted on his nephew's noisy and unrestrained manifestations of enthusiastic admiration. Presently, towards the end of the first act, came the duet between Amina and her lover, who has been made causelessly jealous, and Bianca sang the pretty lines "Son, mio bene, del zeffiro amante, Perche ad esso il tuo nome confido.
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