The statue of Moses on the monument of
Tullio e Catone-e Varrone e Seneca-ebbero moglie," &c., &c. It is odd that honest Lionardo's examples, with the exception of Seneca, and for any thing I know of Aristotle, are not the most felicitous. Tully's Terentia, and Socrates' Xan- tippe, by no means contributed to their husbands' Julius II. happiness, whatever they might do to their philos- ophy-Cato gave away his wife of Varro's we know nothing-and of Seneca's, only that she was dis- posed to die with him, but recovered, and lived several years afterwards. But says Lionardo, "L'uomo è animald civile, secondo piace a tutti i filosofi." And thence concludes that the greatest proof of the animal's civism is "la prima congiun- zione, dalla quale multiplicata nasce la Città."
Di Giovanni Battista Zappi.
Chi è costui, che in dura pietra scolto, Siede gigante; e le più illustre, e conte Prove dell' arte avvanza, e ha vive, e pronte Le labbia si, che le parole ascolto ? Quest' è Mosé; ben me 'l diceva il folto Onor del mento; e 'l doppio raggio in fronte, Quest' è Mosè, quando scendea del monte, E gran parte del Nume avea nel volto. Tal era allor, che le sonanti, e vaste
Acque ei sospese a se d' intorno, e tale Quando il mar chiuse, e ne fè tomba altrui E voi sue turbe un rio vitello alzate? Alzata aveste imago a questa eguale! Ch' era men fallo l' adorar costui
Over the damn'd before the Judgment throne. Page 515, line 94. The Last Judgment, in the Sistine chapel.
15. The stream of his great thoughts shall spring from me Page 515, line 97.
I have read somewhere (if I do not err, for I cannot recollect where) that Dante was so great a favorite of Michael Angelo's, that he had designed the whole of the Divina Commedia; but that the volume containing these studies was lost by sea.
Her charms to pontiff's proud, who but employ, &c. Page 515, line 117. See the treatment of Michael Angelo by Julius II., and his neglect by Leo X.
"What have I done to thee, my people?" Page 516, line 41. "E scrisse più volte non solamente a particolari cittydini del reggimento, ma ancora al popolo, e intra l'altre una Epistola assai lunga che comincia: -Popule mi, quid feci tibi?'"
Vita di Dante, scritta da Lionardo Aretino.
I SAW thee weep-the big bright tear Came o'er that eye of blue;
And then methought it did appear A violet dropping dew:
I saw thee smile-the sapphire's blaze Beside thee ceased to shine;
It could not match the living rays That fill'd that glance of thine.
As clouds from yonder sun receive A deep and mellow dye,
Which scarce the shade of coming eve Can banish from the sky,
Those smiles upon the moodiest mind
Their own pure joy impart; Their sunshine leaves a glow behind That lightens o'er the heart.
THY days are done, thy fame begun; Thy country's strains record The triumphs of her chosen Son, The slaughters of his sword! The deeds he did, the fields he won, The freedom he restored!
Though thou art fall'n, while we are free
Thou shalt not taste of death! The generous blood that flow'd from thee Disdain'd to sink beneath: Within our veins its currents be, Thy spirit on our breath!
Thy name, our charging hosts along, Shall be the battle-word!
Thy fall, the theme of choral song From virgin voices pour'd! To weep would do thy glory wrong; Thou shalt not be deplored.
SONG OF SAUL BEFORE HIS LAST BATTLE.
WARRIORS and Chiefs! should the shaft or the sword
Pierce me in leading the host of the Lord, Heed not the corse, though a king's, in your path: Bury your steel in the bosoms of Gath!
Thou who art bearing my buckler and bow, Should the soldiers of Saul look away from the foe, Stretch me that moment in blood at thy feet! Mine be the doom which they dared not to meet.
Farewell to others, but never we part, Heir to my royalty, son of my heart! Bright is the diadem, boundless the sway, Or kingly the death, which awaits us to-day!
THOU whose spell can raise the dead Bid the prophet's form appear. "Samuel, raise thy buried head!
King, behold the phantom seer!" Earth yawn'd; he stood the centre of a cloud: Light changed its hue, retiring from his shroud. Death stood all glassy in his fixed eye;
His hand was wither'd, and his veins were dry; His foot, in bony whiteness, glitter'd there, Shrunken and sinewless, and ghastly bare; From lips that moved not, and unbreathing frame, Like cavern'd winds, the hollow accents came. Saul saw, and fell to earth, as falls the oak, At once, and blasted by the thunder-stroke.
"Why is my sleep disquieted? Who is he that calls the dead? Is it thou, O king? Behold, Bloodless are these limbs, and cold: Such are mine; and such shall be Thine to-morrow, when with me; Ere the coming day is done, Such shalt thou be, such thy son. Fare thee well, but for a day; Then we mix our mouldering clay. Thou, thy race, lie pale and low, Pierced by shafts of many a bow; And the falchion by thy side To thy heart thy hand shall guide: Crownless, breathless, headless fall, Son and sire, the house of Saul!"
"ALL IS VANITY, SAITH THE PREACHER."
FAME, wisdom, love, and power were mine, And health and youth possess'd me; My goblets blush'd from every vine, And lovely forms caress'd me;
I sunn'd my heart in beauty's eyes, And felt my soul grow tender; All earth can give, or mortal prize, Was mine of regal splendor.
I strive to number o'er what days Remembrance can discover, Which all of life or earth displays Would lure me to live over.
There rose no day, there roll'd no hour Of pleasure unembitter'd; And not a trapping deck'd my power
That gall'd not while it glitter'd.
The serpent of the field, by art
And spells, is won from harming; But that which coils around the heart, Oh! who hath power of charming?
It will not list to wisdom's lore, Nor music's voice can lure it; But there it stings for evermore The soul that must endure it.
The monarch saw, and shook, And bade no more rejoice; All bloodless wax'd his look, And tremulous his voice. "Let the men of lore appear, The wisest of the earth, And expound the words of fear, Which mar our royal mirth."
WERE MY BOSOM AS FALSE AS THOU DEEM'ST IT TO BE.
WERE my bosom as false as thou deem'st it to be, I need not have wander'd from far Galilee; It was but abjuring my creed to efface
The curse which, thou say'st, is the crime of my race.
If the bad never triumph, then God is with thee ! If the slave only sin, thou art spotless and free' If the Exile on earth is an Outcast on high, Live on in thy faith, but in mine I will die.
I have lost for that faith more than thou canst Detow, As the God who permits thee to prosper doth know; In his hand is my heart and my hope-and in thine The land and the life which for him I resign.
HEROD'S LAMENT FOR MARIAMNE.
OH, Mariamne! now for thee
The heart for which thou bled'st is bleeding; Revenge is lost in agony,
And wild remorse to rage succeeding
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