The Welcome Shore
Texts and Translations
Translations by Steven Blier
Det far ett skepp, from Visor och stämningar, Op. 26 No. 5 [1908] Music by Wilhelm Stenhammar Poem by Bo Bergman Sung by The Ensemble
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A Ship Sets Out, from Songs and Moods |
Det far ett skepp på gungande våg, ack gungande våg, med tackel och tåg och vimpel i mast, jag kommer ihåg, att skeppet heter Lyckan. Och sjöarna dunka mot skeppets stam, och revlarna resa sin vita kam, men skepparn lotsar sig ändå fram, ty skeppet heter Lyckan.
Och när det kommer till grönskande strand, ack grönskande strand, så ser man ibland en flicka vifta och vinka med hand åt skeppet som heter Lyckan. Det vinkar igen från master och rår, det viftar och hurrar, i märsen står en lättmatros, han har knollrigt hår, och skeppet heter Lyckan.
Och flickan öppnar sin rosendemund, ack rosendemund så röd och så rund, och suckar och ber; tag mig med på stund på skeppet som heter Lyckan. Men sanna mitt ord, är flickan ombord, så går det åt botten, sanna mitt ord, ty flickor på hav och flickor på jord de göra kål på lyckan.
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A ship sets out upon the tossing wave, On the tossing wave, with tackle and rigging, And a pennant on its mast, I remember That the ship is called Fortune. And the seas slap against the stern of the ship, And the sand reefs raise their white crest But in spite of all, the skipper pilots it forward, For the ship is called Fortune.
And when it comes to a verdant shore, Ah, a verdant shore, then sometimes one sees A maiden waving and beckoning with her hand To the ship that is called Fortune. They wave back from the masts and booms, They wave and cheer, and at the top stands A typical sailor with curly hair, And the ship is called Fortune.
And the girl opens her rosy mouth, Oh rosy mouth, so red and round, And she sighs and begs: take me with you for a while On the ship that is called Fortune. But mark my words, once the girl is on board, It will sink to the bottom, mark my words, For the girls on the sea and the girls on land They make mincemeat of Fortune.
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Melodi [1917-24] Music by Wilhelm Stenhammar Poem by Bo Bergman Sung by Philip Cutlip
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Melody |
Bara du går över markerna, lever var källa, sjunger var tuva ditt namn. Skyarna brinna och parkerna susa och fälla lövet som guld i din famn.
Och vid de skummiga stränderna hör jag din stämmas vaggande vågsorl till tröst Räck mig de älskade händerna. Mörkret skall skrämmas. Kvalet skall släppa mitt bröst.
Bara du går över ängarna, bara jag ser dig vandra i fjärran förbi, darra de eviga strängarna. Säg mig vem ger dig makten som blir melodi?
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If you but walk across the fields, Each freshwater spring comes alive, Every blade of grass sings your name. The skies are aflame, and the parks whisper, And into your arms falls a leaf like gold.
And by the foaming seashores I hear the sound of your voice Rocking and surging in consolation. Stretch out your loving hands to me, And the darkness will be frightened away. The torment will leave my heart.
If only you stroll across the meadows, If only I see you Walking in the distance, The eternal strings tremble. Tell me who gives you The power that turns into melody?
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Venetsiia noch'iu, Op. 9, No. 1 [1899] Music by Sergei Taneyev Poem by Afanasy Fet Sung by Sasha Cooke
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Venice at Night |
Lunnyi svet sverkaet iarko,
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The moonlight glitters brightly, Translation by Olga Cooke
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Burya, Op. 43, No. 3 [1912] Music by Sergei Rachmaninoff Poem by Aleksandr Pushkin Sung by Michelle Areyzaga
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The Storm |
Ty videl devu na skale, V odezhde beloj, nad volnami, Kogda, bushuja v burnoj mgle. Igralo more s beregami, Kogda luch molnij ozarjal Jejo vsechasno bleskom alym, I veter bilsja i letal S jejo letuchim pokryvalom! Prekrasno more v burnoj mgle, I nebo v blestkakh, bez lazuri; No ver' mne: deva na skale Prekrasnej voln, nebes i buri.
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I saw a maiden on a cliff Clad in white, above the waves, As they surged in a stormy haze, Playing with the shore, When the glow of lightning illuminated her Over and over again with its bright scarlet luster And the wind whipped, Agitating her flying veil! The sea is beautiful in its stormy haze, And the lightning-streaked sky, with no hint of azure; But believe me: the maid on the cliff Is still more beautiful than the waves, the heavens, and the storm.
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V ogorode, vozle brodu, from Shest’ dujetov, Op. 46, No. 4 [1880] Music by Piotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky Poem by Ivan Surikov Sung by Michelle Areyzaga and Sasha Cooke
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In the Garden, Near the Ford, from Six Duets
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V ogorode, vozle brodu, Makov cvet ne vskhodit, I do brodu za vodoju Devica ne khodit.
V ogorode khmel' zeljonyj Sokhnet na tychine; Chernobrova, belolica Devica v kruchine.
V ogorode, vozle brodu, Verba naklonilas'; Zagrustilas' chernobrova, Tjazhko zagrustilas'.
Ona plachet, plachet i rydajet, Slovno rybka b'jotsja, A nad neju, molodoju, Molodec smejotsja.
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In the garden, near the ford, No poppies are blossoming, And a maiden does not go To draw water from the ford.
In the garden, green hops Wither on their stalks; With jet-black hair and pale cheeks, The maiden is downcast.
In the garden, near the ford, A willow leans down, The dark-haired maiden grows sad, Weighed down with sorrow.
She weeps and sobs, Trembles like a fish caught in a net, And a young swain mocks her, Laughs at the young and beautiful girl. |
from Sea Pictures, Op. 37 [1899] Music by Edward Elgar Sung by Sasha Cooke
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Sea Slumber Song Poem by Roden Noel
Sea-birds are asleep, The world forgets to weep, Sea murmurs her soft slumber-song On the shadowy sand Of this elfin land; I, the Mother mild, Hush thee, oh my child, Forget the voices wild! Hush thee, oh my child, Hush thee. Isles in elfin light Dream, the rocks and caves, Lulled by whispering waves, Veil their marbles In Haven (Capri) Poem by Caroline Alice Elgar
Closely let me hold thy hand, Storms are sweeping sea and land; Love alone will stand. Closely cling, for waves beat fast, Foam-flakes cloud the hurrying blast; Love alone will last. Kiss my lips, and softly say: Joy, sea-swept, may fade to-day; Love alone will stay. |
Veil their marbles bright. Foam glimmers faintly faintly white Upon the shelly sand Of this elfin land; Sea-sound, like violins, To slumber woos and wins, I murmur my soft slumber-song, my slumber song Leave woes, and wails, and sins. Ocean's shadowy might Breathes good night, Good night... Leave woes, and wails, and sins. Good night...Good night... Good night...
Where Corals Lie Poem by Richard Garmett
The deeps have music soft and low When winds awake the airy spry, It lures me, lures me on to go And see the land where corals lie. The land, the land where corals lie. By mount and mead, by lawn and rill, When night is deep, and moon is high, That music seeks and finds me still, And tells me where the corals lie. And tells me where the corals lie. Yes, press my eyelids close, 'tis well, Yes, press my eyelids close, 'tis well, But far the rapid fancies fly The rolling worlds of wave and shell, And all the lands where corals lie. Thy lips are like a sunset glow, Thy smile is like a morning sky, Yet leave me, leave me, let me go And see the land where corals lie. The land, the land where corals lie. |
Sabbath Morning at Sea
Poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
The ship went on with solemn face; To meet the darkness on the deep, The solemn ship went onward. I bowed down weary in the place;for parting tears and present sleep Had weighed mine eyelids downward. The new sight, the new wondrous sight! The waters around me, turbulent, The skies, impassive o'er me, Calm in a moonless, sunless light, As glorified by even the intent Of holding the day glory! Love me, sweet friends, this sabbath day. The sea sings round me while ye roll afar The hymn, unaltered, And kneel, where once I knelt to pray, And bless me deeper in your soul Because your voice has faltered. |
And though this sabbath comes to me Without the stolèd minister, And chanting congregation, God's Spirit shall give comfort. He who brooded soft on waters drear, Creator on creation. He shall assist me to look higher, Where keep the saints, with harp and song, An endless sabbath morning, And, on that sea commixed with fire, Oft drop their eyelids raised too long To the full Godhead's burning.
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Auf dem See, D. 543b [1770] Music by Franz Schubert Poem Johann Wolfgang von Goethe Sung by Michelle Areyzaga
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On the Lake |
Und frische Nahrung, neues Blut Saug ich aus freier Welt: Wie ist Natur so hold und gut, Die mich am Busen hält!
Die Welle wieget unsern Kahn Im Rudertakt hinauf, Und Berge, wolkig himmelan, Begegnen unserm Lauf.
Aug, mein Aug, was sinkst du nieder? Goldne Träume, kommt ihr wieder? Weg, du Traum! so gold du bist: Hier auch Lieb und Leben ist.
Auf der Welle blinken Tausend schwebende Sterne, Weiche Nebel trinken Rings die türmende Ferne;
Morgenwind umflügelt Die beschattete Bucht, Und im See bespiegelt Sich die reifende Frucht.
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As I imbibe fresh nourishment and new vigor From the wide world, How kind and good Nature is As she holds me to her breast!
The waves rock our boat In rhythm with the oars, And the mountains, lofting up to the clouds, Meet us on our voyage.
My eyes, my eyes, why are you downcast? Golden dreams, will you ever return? Be gone, my dream! Though you may be golden, There will be love and life here as well.
On the waves A thousand floating stars twinkle, Gentle mists drink in The looming expanse around me;
The morning wind flutters through The dappled bay. And the lake mirrors the reflection Of ripening fruit trees. |
Der Zwerg, D. 771 [1823] Music by Franz Schubert Poem by Mattäus von Colin Sung by Philip Cutlip
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The Dwarf |
Im trüben Licht verschwinden schon die Berge, Es schwebt das Schiff auf glatten Meereswogen, Worauf die Königin mit ihrem Zwerge.
Sie schaut empor zum hochgewölbten Bogen, Hinauf zur lichtdurchwirkten blauen Ferne; Die mit der Milch des Himmels blass durchzogen.
"Nie, nie habt ihr mir gelogen noch, ihr Sterne," So ruft sie aus, "bald werd' ich nun entschwinden, Ihr sagt es mir, doch sterb' ich wahrlich gerne."
Da tritt der Zwerg zur Königin, mag binden Um ihren Hals die Schnur von roter Seide, Und weint, als wollt' er schnell vor Gram erblinden.
Er spricht: "Du selbst bist schuld an diesem Leide Weil um den König du mich hast verlassen, Jetzt weckt dein Sterben einzig mir noch Freude.
"Zwar werd' ich ewiglich mich selber haßen, Der dir mit dieser Hand den Tod gegeben, Doch mußt zum frühen Grab du nun erblassen."
Sie legt die Hand aufs Herz voll jungem Leben, Und aus dem Aug' die schweren Tränen rinnen, Das sie zum Himmel betend will erheben.
"Mögst du nicht Schmerz durch meinen Tod gewinnen!" Sie sagt's; da küßt der Zwerg die bleichen Wangen, D'rauf alsobald vergehen ihr die Sinnen.
Der Zwerg schaut an die Frau, von Tod befangen, Er senkt sie tief ins Meer mit eig'nen Händen, Ihm brennt nach ihr das Herz so voll Verlangen, An keiner Küste wird er je mehr landen.
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In the dim light the mountains already become indistinct; The ship floats on the glassy sea’s swell; Aboard are the Queen with her dwarf.
She gazes upward to the high vaulting arch of the sky, And out to the deep blue horizon, dappled with light And mottled by the Milky Way.
“Never, never have you yet lied to me, oh stars,” Thus she calls out, “And soon I shall cease to exist, So you tell me, but in truth I shall gladly die.”
Then the dwarf steps up to the queen, and goes to tie A red silken cord around her neck, And he weeps as if he were about to go blind with grief.
He speaks: “You yourself are to blame for this anguish For you left me to marry the king, And now my only happiness lies in your death.”
“Though I shall hate myself forever more, Having killed you with my own hands, You must now grow pale in an untimely grave.”
She places her hand over heart, so filled with youthful life, And bitter tears flow from her eyes, As she tries to lift them to heaven in prayer.
“May my death not cause you everlasting pain!” She says; then the dwarf kisses her pale cheeks, Whereupon her senses fail.
The dwarf gazes upon the woman in the clutches of death, He lowers her body deep into the ocean with his own hands, His heart burns with so much longing for her, On no shore will he ever land again.
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Mañanita de San Juan, from Seis canciones castellanes [ca. 1941] Music by Jesús Guridi Folk poem Sung by Michelle Areyzaga
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Very Early on the Morning of St. John’s Day, from Six Castillian Songs |
Mañanita de San Juan, lavántate tempranito y en la ventana verás de hierbabuena un poquito.
Aquella paloma blanca que pica en el arcipiés, que por dónde la cogería que por dónde la cogeré; si la cojo por el pico se me escapa por los piés.
Coge niño la enramada, que la noche está serena y la música resuena en lo profundo del mar.
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At the morning bells on St. John’s Day, get up early and through the window you’ll see a little sprig of mint.
That white dove which nibbles on whatever it can find, where might I catch it? how shall I catch it? if I catch it by its beak it can still escape by running.
Go to the arbor, my lad, for the night is cloudless and the music resounds in the depths of the sea. |
Olas gigantes [1935] Music by Joaquín Turina Poem by Gustavo Aldolfo Béquer Sung by Michelle Areyzaga
Olas gigantes que os rompéis bramando en las playas desiertas y remotas, envuelto entre la sábana de espumas, ¡llevadme con vosotras!
Ráfagas de huracán que arrebatáis del alto bosque las marchitas hojas, arrastrado en el ciego torbellino, ¡llevadme con vosotras!
Nubes de tempestad que rompe el rayo y en fuego ornáis las desprendidas orlas, arrebatado entre la niebla oscura, ¡llevadme con vosotras!
Llevadme por piedad a donde el vértigo con la razón me arranque le memoria. ¡Por piedad! ¡Tengo miedo de quedarme con mi dolor a solas!
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Giant Waves
You giant waves, breaking wildly On deserted and distant shores— Wrapped in a sheet of foam, Bear me away with you!
You hurricane blasts that seize The dead leaves in the tall forest— Pulled into your blind furor, Bear me away with you!
You storm clouds torn by lightning, Your edges adorned with fire— Seized by a dark mist, Bear me away with you!
For pity’s sake, take me to a place where my vertigo Will do away with reason and memory. For pity’s sake! I fear being left alone With my anguish.
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La barcheta, from Venezia [1901] Music by Reynaldo Hahn Poem by Pietro Buratti Sung by Michelle Areyzaga
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The Little Boat |
La note è bela, Fa presto, o Nineta, Andemo in barcheta I freschi a ciapar! A Toni g'ho dito Ch'el felze el ne cava Per goder sta bava Che supia dal mar. Ah!
Che gusto contarsela Soleti in laguna, E al chiaro de luna Sentirse a vogar! Ti pol de la ventola Far senza, o mia cara, Chè zefiri a gara Te vol sventolar. Ah!
Se gh'è tra de lori Chi troppo indiscreto Volesse da pèto El velo strapar, No bada a ste frotole, Soleti za semo E Toni el so' remo Lè a tento a menar. Ah!
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The night is beautiful, Come quickly, oh Ninetta, Let us go out in a little boat To take the evening breezes. I have asked Tonio To remove the canopy So that we can enjoy the air That blows in from the sea. Ah!
What a pleasure to talk idly Alone on the lagoon, And in the moonlight To sail along in our boat! As for your fan, You won’t need it, oh my darling, For the zephyrs will vie with one another To give you refreshment. Ah!
If there is one among them So indiscreet As to attempt to lift The veil covering your breast, Pay no mind to its folly, We are quite alone, And Tonio is completely intent On plying his oar. Ah!
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Abril [?1920s] Music by Juan Lamote de Grignon Poem by Apel.les Mestres Sung by Philip Cutlip
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April |
Era per l’Abril per un caminet (larirà lindaina) per un caminet dolçament estret on cantava el grill i el llacsó floria vam pujar al bosc de bon matinet quan el sol eixia vora d’una font sota un roure vell, (larirà lindaina) sota un roure vell on el passarell refilant son cant el seu niu teixia, varen descansar sobre un escambell d’eures i falzia.
Dúiem per company un poeta amic (larirà lindaina) un poeta amic, un autor antic docte en lleis d’amor, mestre en poesia; en ses rimes d’or jo aprendré bon xic i a tu no et doldria i en la dolça pau d’aquell lloc desert, (larirà lindaina) d’aquell lloc desert, olorós i vert mentres reia el sol i la font corria el llibre als teus peus esperava obert, mes ningú no el llegia. Vam estar molt temps? Mai no ho podré dir (larirà lindaina) jo només puc dir que no el vaig llegir que en tos ulls només vaig llegir aquell día i que mai no he aprés, guard’m de mentir, tanta poesia.
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It was in the month of April, on a path (larira…) on a charmingly narrow little path, where the cricket was singing and the flower bloomed, we went up to the forest early in the morning when the sun appeared, beside a fountain under an old oak tree, (larira…) under an old oak tree on the path where a bird was working on his song and weaving his nest, we rested on a stool made of ivy and ferns. We had a poet friend as company (larira…) a poet friend, a classic author a doctor in the laws of love, master of poetry; in his golden verses I would learn a great deal and it will cause you no harm, and in the sweet peace of that deserted place (larira…) of that deserted place, fragrant and green, while the sun laughed and the fountain flowed the book by your feet was waiting, open, but no one was reading it. Were we here for long? I could never say (larira…) I can only say that I did not read the book, That I read only your eyes That day, and that I have never learned— And this is no lie—so much poetry.
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Cançó amorosa [1948] Music by Xavier Montsalvatge poem by Tomas Garcés Sung by Philip Cutlip
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Love Song |
Voldría ser mariner i durte a la meva vora; la vela iria pel mar com un cavall blanc que corre, el vent posaria olor de fonoll entre les cordes i l’ona es faria en llà deixant el camí a la proa. Passarien els vaixells fent voleiar les banderes. Mariners, cap on aneu, cap on aneu tan de presa? potser cerqueu un tresor perdut en la mar deserta? Jo els veuria com se’n van, sense mica de recança. Els teus ulls són mon tresor, poc he de cercarne d’altre. Quina joia, al teu costat, veure la terra allunyarse i seguir en les nits d’agost les estrelles que es desmaten. On tu giressis l’esguard el vent ens hi portaria, t’escoltarien le veu els peixos i les gavines els focs ardents de Sant Telm a dalt dels pals s’encendrien i veuries que al teu pas la terra i el mar sospiren.
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I would like to be a sailor And have you beside me; The sail would move through the sea Like a white horse that runs, The wind would smell of parsley Between the ropes And the wave would gather over yonder Leaving a path for our prow. Ships would pass by us Waving their flags. Sailors, where are you going, Where are you going so fast? Is it that you are looking for treasure Lost in the deserted sea? I would watch them go away Without any regret. Your eyes are my treasure, I don’t have to seek any other. What happiness at your side, To see the land receding, And to follow in the August nights The stars that make us dizzy with pleasure. Wherever you turn your glance The wind would take us, Your voice would be heard By the fish and the seagulls. The blazing fires of Sant Telm Would burst into flame at top of the mast And you would see as you pass The land and the sea sighing.
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Cançó de grumet, from A l’ombra del lledoner [1924] Music by Eduardo Toldrà Poem by Tomàs Garcés Sung by Philip Cutlip
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The Cabin-Boy’s Song, from In the Shade of the Nettle Tree
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Adéu, turons de Marsella, ja s’en van els mariners. Tot just hem hissat la vela es gira un oratge fresc. Aquell pinar de la costa deu ser ple de cants d’ocell; si no sentim l’ocellada ens du romaní l’oreig. Quin goig, de bon dematí, seguir la darrera estrella: ni barco sense bandera.”
Infla’t vela, llisca vela! Com s’allunya la ciutat! Guaita l’or clar de la platja i a dalt de tot el cel clar. Timoner, potse sospires? l’enyorança t’ha punxat? El gallaret llengoteja i enjoia tota la nau. Quin goig, cremant sobre els pals, el gallaret de la festa: “no hi ha lliri sense flor ni barco sense bandera.”
¡Adéu, turons de Marsella! ¡Adéu, la noia i el pi! No ens espanten les ventades ni la boira de la nit. Si el vent xiula entre les cordes, demá el mar sera ben llis. A cada port ens espera, amorós, un llavi fi. Quin goig, tornant de la mar, el petó d’una donzella: “no hi ha lliri sense flor ni barco sense bandera.”
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Farewell to the hills of Marseilles! The sailors are now casting off. The sails have just been hoisted And a fresh breeze is rising That pine forest by the coast Must be filled with birdsong; Even if we don’t hear their serenade, We’ll breathe the scent of rosemary. What joy at daybreak To follow the last star: No ship without a banner!”
Let the sail billow and glide! How distant the city becomes. Behold the sparkling gold of the beach And the clear blue sky above. Steersman, why are you sighing? Are you gripped by homesickness? The banner waves proudly in the air And gladdens the whole ship. What joy, shining out over the masts, The festival pennant: “There is no lily without a flower, No ship without a banner!”
Farewell to the hills of Marseilles! Farewell to the girls, and the pine-trees! We fear neither the winds Nor the nighttime fog. If the wind whistles through the ropes Tomorrow the sea will be calm. In every port a sweet kiss Waits for lovers like us. What a joy, after being at sea, A woman’s embrace! “There is no lily without a flower, No ship without a banner!”
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Havanaise [pub. 1880] Music by Pauline Viardot Anonymous poet Sung by Michelle Areyzaga and Sasha Cooke
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Habañera |
Vente, niña, conmigo al mar que en la playa tengo un bajel. Vogaremos a dos en él, que allí sólo se sabe amar. Ay, rubita, ¡si tú supieras! ¡Dame, dame tu amor!
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Come with me, sweet girl, to the sea, For I have a little boat on the beach. The two of us will go sailing in it For there alone can one learn to love. Ah, fair-haired girl, if you only knew! Give me, give me your love! |
Marechiare (Canto napoletano) [1886] Music by Francesco Paolo Tosti Poem by Salvatore di Giacomo Sung Philip Cutlip
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Marechiare (Neapolitan Song) |
Quanno sponta la luna a Marechiare, Pure li pisce ’nce fann’s l’ammore, Se revoltano l’onne de lu mare, Pe la priezza cagneno culore, Quanno sponta la luna a Marechiare.
A Marechiare ’nce sta fenesta, La passione mia ’nce tuzzulea; Nu caro fano addora int’s na testa, Passa l’acque pe sotto a murmurlèa: A Marechiare ’nce sta na fenesta.
Chi dice ca li stelle so lucente Nun sape st’uochhie ca tu tiene ’nfronte! Sti doje stele li saccio io solamente, Discendono le punte in questo core! Chi dice ca li stelle so lucente.
Dèstati, che la sera è tutto incanto, E mai per tanto tempo io t’ho aspettata! Per accoppiar gli accordi al mesto canto Stasera una chitarra ho qui portata! Dèstati, che la sera è tutto incanto!
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When the moon comes out in Marechiare, Even the fish tremble with love, They ride the waves in the deep embrace of the sea, And they change color from sheer joy. When the moon comes out in Marechiare.
In Marechiare a balcony smiles, And there my passion takes wing; Under it the water sings a song, And nearby a carnation spreads its fragrance. In Marechiare a balcony smiles.
Whoever says that the stars shine brightly Has never seen the splendor of your eyes! I know well those burning rays, They pierce right through my heart! Whoever says that the stars shine brightly.
Awaken, for the evening is filled with magic, And I have awaited you for such a long time! To strum the chords of my sad song This evening I have brought along a guitar! Awaken, for the evening is filled with magic! |
maggie and millie and mollie and may, from Quiet Songs [1990] Music by John Musto Poem by e.e. cummings Sung by Michelle Areyzaga
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maggie and milly and molly and may went down to the beach (to play one day)
and maggie discovered a shell that sang so sweetly she couldn't remember her troubles, and
milly befriended a stranded star whose rays five languid fingers were;
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and molly was chased by a horrible thing which raced sideways while blowing bubbles: and
may came home with a smooth round stone as small as a world and as large as alone.
For whatever we lose (like a you or a me) it's always ourselves we find in the sea
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A Bar on the Piccolo Marina [1954] Music and lyrics by Noel Coward Sung by The Ensemble
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In a “Bijou” abode In St. Barnabas Road Not far from the Esher bypass, Lived a mother and wife Who for most of her life Let every adventure fly past. She had two strapping daughters and a rather dull son, And a much duller husband who, at sixty-one, Elected to retire… And later on expire. Sing hallelujah, heigh-nonny-no. Heigh-nonny-no, heigh-nonny-no. He joined the feathered choir.
On a wet afternoon In the middle of June They all of them came home soaking, Having laid him to rest By special request In the family vault at Woking. And then in the middle of the funeral wake, With her mouth full of excellent Madeira cake, His widow cried, "That's done, My life's at last begun!" Sing hallelujah, heigh-nonny-no. Heigh-nonny-no, heigh-nonny-no. "It's time I had some fun! Today, though hardly a jolly day, At least has set me free, We'll all have a lovely holiday On the Island of Capri!”
In a bar on the Piccola Marina, Life called to Mrs. Wentworth-Brewster. Fate beckoned her and introduced her Into a rather queer, unfamiliar atmosphere. She'd just sit there, propping up the bar Beside a fisherman who sang to a guitar. When accused of having gone too far, She merely cried "Funiculi, just fancy me, funicula!" When he bellowed "Che bella signorina!" Sheer ecstasy at once produced a Wild shriek from Mrs. Wentworth-Brewster, Changing her whole demeanor. When both her daughters and her son said, "Please come home, Mama!"
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She answered rather bibulously, "Who do you think you are?" Nobody can afford to be so la-di-bloody-da In a bar on the Piccola Marina.”
Every fisherman cried "Viva, viva!” and “Che ragazza!” When she sat on the grand piazza Everybody would rise, Every fisherman sighed "Viva, viva, che bella inglese." Someone even said "Whoops-a-daisy," Which was quite a surprise.
Each evening, with some light excuse and beaming with goodwill, She'd just slip into something loose and totter down the hill To that bar on the Piccola Marina, Where love came to Mrs. Wentworth-Brewster. Hot flushes of delight suffused her, Right round the bend she went, Picture her astonishment. Day in, day out, she would gad about, Because she felt she was no longer on the shelf. Night out, night in, knocking back the gin, She cried "Hurrah, Funiculi, funicula, funnic-yourself!"
Just for fun, three young sailors from Messina Bowed low to Mrs. Wentworth-Brewster, Said "Scusi," and politely goosed her. Then there was quite a scena: Her family in floods of tears cried "Leave these men, Mama!" She said, “They’re just high-spirited, Like all Italians are. And most of them have a great deal more to offer than Papa!” In a bar on the Piccola Marina.
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