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Già v'ebbe un uomo, nel cui tenue spirto
(qual luce e vento in delicata nube
che ardente ciel di mezzo-giorno stempri)
la morte e il genio contendeano. Oh! quanta tenera gioia,
che gli fè il respiro venir meno
(così dell'aura estiva l'ansia talvolta)
guando la sua dama, che allor solo conobbe l'abbandono
pieno e il concorde palpitar di due creature che s'amano,
egli addusse pei sentieri d'un campo,
ad oriente da una foresta biancheggiante ombrato
ed a ponente discoverto al cielo!
There late was One within whose subtle being,
As light and wind within some delicate cloud
That fades amid the blue noon's burning sky,
Genius and death contended. None may know
The sweetness of the joy which made his breath
Fail, like the trances of the summer air
When, with the lady of his love, who then
First knew the unreserve of mingled being,
He walked along the pathway of a field
Which to the east a hoar wood shadowed o'er,
But to the west was open to the sky.
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Ora è sommerso il sole: ma linee d'oro
pendon sovra le cineree nubi,
sul verde piano sui tremanti fiori
sui grigi globi dell' antico smirnio,
e i neri boschi avvolgono,
del vespro mescolandosi alle ombre.
Lenta sorge ad oriente
l'infocata luna tra i folti rami delle piante cupe:
brillan sul capo languide le stelle.
E il giovin sussura: "Non è strano?
Io mai non vidi il sorgere del sole,
o Isabella. Domani a contemplarlo verremo insieme.”
There now the sun had sunk, but lines of gold
Hung on the ashen clouds, and on the points
Of the far level grass and nodding flowers
And the old dandelion's hoary beard,
And, mingled with the shades of twilight, lay
On the brown massy woods - and in the east
The broad and burning moon lingeringly rose
Between the black trunks of the crowded trees,
While the faint stars were gathering overhead.
"Is it not strange, Isabel," said the youth,
"I never saw the sun? We will walk here
To-morrow; thou shalt look on it with me.
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Il giovin e la dama giacquer tra il sonno e il dolce amor
congiunti ne la notte: al mattin
gelido e morto ella trovò l'amante.
Oh! nessun creda che, vibrando tal colpo,
fu il Signore misericorde.
Non mori la dama, né folle diventò:
anno per anno visse ancora
Ma io penso che la queta sua pazienza, e i trepidi sorrisi,
e il non morir... ma vivere a custodia del vecchio padre
(se è follia dal mondo dissimigliare)
fossero follia. Era, null'altro che a vederla,
come leggere un canto da ingegnoso bardo
intessuto a piegar gelidi cuori in un dolor pensoso.
That night the youth and lady mingled lay
In love and sleep - but when the morning came
The lady found her lover dead and cold.
Let none believe that God in mercy gave
That stroke. The lady died not, nor grew wild,
But year by year lived on - in truth I think
Her gentleness and patience and sad smiles,
And that she did not die, but lived to tend
Her agèd father, were a kind of madness,
If madness 'tis to be unlike the world
For but to see her were to read the tale
Woven by some subtlest bard, to make hard hearts
Dissolve away in wisdom-working grief;
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Neri gli occhi ma non fulgidi più;
consunte quasi le ciglia dalle lagrime;
le labbra e le gote parevan cose morte tanto eran bianche;
ed esili le mani e per le erranti vene e le giunture rossa
del giorno trasparia la luce.
La nuda tomba, che il tuo fral racchiude,
cui notte e giorno un'ombra tormentata abita,
é quanto di te resta, o cara creatura perduta!
Her eyes were black and lustreless and wan:
Her eyelashes were worn away with tears,
Her lips and cheeks were like things dead - so pale;
Her hands were thin, and through their wandering veins
And weak articulations might be seen
Day's ruddy light. The tomb of thy dead self
Which one vexed ghost inhabits, night and day,
Is all, lost child, that now remains of thee!
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"Ho tal retaggio, che la terra non dà:
calma e silenzio, senza peccato e senza passione.
Sia che i morti ritrovino (non mai il sonno!) ma il riposo,
imperturbati quali appaion,
o vivano, o d'amore nel mar protondo scendano;
oh! che il mio epitaffio, che il tuo sia: Pace!"
Questo dalle sue labbra l'unico lamento.
"Inheritor of more than earth can give,
Passionless calm and silence unreproved,
Where the dead find, oh, not sleep! but rest,
And are the uncomplaining things they seem,
Or live, a drop in the deep sea of Love;
Oh, that like thine, mine epitaph were - Peace!"
This was the only moan she ever made.
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Media vita in morte sumus.
Quem quaerimus adiutorem nisi te, Domine,
qui pro peccatis nostris iuste irasceris?
Sancte Deus, Sancte fortis,
Sancte et misericors Salvator,
amarae morti ne tradas nos.
Nunc dimittis servum tuum Domine:
secundum verbum tuum in pace.
Quia viderunt oculi mei: salutare tuum.
Quod parasti ante faciem omnium populorum.
Lumen ad revelationem gentium:
et gloriam plebis tuae Israel.
Gloria Patri et Filio: et Spiritui Sancto.
Sicut erat in principio et nunc et semper:
et in saecula saeculorum.
Amen.
In the midst of life we are in death.
From whom may we seek help except you, Lord,
who, on account of our sins, are justly angry?
Holy God,
holy and strong,
holy and merciful Saviour,
do not hand us over to the bitter pains of death.
Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace,
according to thy word.
For mine eyes have seen thy salvation,
which thou hast prepared before the face of all people.
to be a light to lighten the gentiles,
and to be the glory of thy people Israel.
Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost.
As it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be,
world without end.
Amen.
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I am a frequent visitor to the Protestant Cemetery in Testaccio, Rome. Shelley, Keats and Corso are buried there among other expatriates who adopted the city of Rome as their own.
I am a not a huge fan of the music by Ottorino Respighi, whose work, like the Pines of Rome, reminds too much of Hollywood music scores. But I was pleasantly surprised when I discovered on YouTube a chamber work he wrote for mezzo-soprano and string quartet called “Il Tramonto.” The vocal and string writing are exquisite, quite beautiful and heart-felt. When I looked at the source of the text I saw that it was an Italian translation by Roberto Ascoli of a poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley.
That immediately inspired me to do my own musical setting of this poem. Two reasons. One, it has a Rome connection. Two, two of my favorite subjects in music are all there in one poem: love and death. Unfortunately I did not find the original English version to be sufficiently “musical.” The archaic language was a bit leaden and convoluted. On the other hand, the Italian translation is so much more lyrical and transcendental.
I divided the poem into five parts. At the end I decided to tag on a text I have wanted to set for quite some time: Media Vita. I think the subject of this Latin text fits beautifully as a coda or postlude to Il Tramonto.
I. Moderato … Già v’ebbe un uomo
II. Andante … Ora è sommerso il sole
III. Adagio … Il giovin e la dama giacquer tra il sonno
IV. Moderato … Neri gli occhi ma non fulgidi più
V. Adagio … Ho tal retaggio che la terra non dà
VI. Postlude: Largo … Media Vita
Enjoy!!!
released June 3, 2022
Sarah Yanovitch, soprano
Tae Kim, piano
Music by Thomas Oboe Lee
Poems by Percy Bysshe Percy (1792 - 1822), P.D.
Translation by Roberto Ascoli (1891 - 1930), P.D.
© Departed Feathers Music, Inc. - BMI - 2022
Recorded in the Fraser Studio @ WGBH
May 31, 2022
Antonio Oliart, audio engineer and editor
Photo credit: Thomas Oboe Lee
YouTube link:
youtu.be/UQym8sTNWaQ
