. Florence in poetry, history and art . rried to the bankThose who had stolen an hour to breast the tide,And wash from their unharnessed limbs the bloodAnd sweat of battle. Sudden was the rush,Violent the tumult, for already in sightNearer and nearer yet drew the and every sinew straining, every nerve,Each snatching up, and girding, buckling onMarion and greave and shirt of twisted mail,As for his life—no more perchance to tasteArno—the grateful freshness of the glades,The waters,—where, exulting he had feltA swimmers transport, there, alas! to float and welter! Of the many figures


. Florence in poetry, history and art . rried to the bankThose who had stolen an hour to breast the tide,And wash from their unharnessed limbs the bloodAnd sweat of battle. Sudden was the rush,Violent the tumult, for already in sightNearer and nearer yet drew the and every sinew straining, every nerve,Each snatching up, and girding, buckling onMarion and greave and shirt of twisted mail,As for his life—no more perchance to tasteArno—the grateful freshness of the glades,The waters,—where, exulting he had feltA swimmers transport, there, alas! to float and welter! Of the many figures which were to adorn themonument of Pope Julius II only one was fin-ished—the Moses in San Pietro in Vinculi inRome, but the others which Angelo had de-signed for the same monument, and which wereexecuted by his pupils, are now in the Accade-mia, with a collection of casts of his works andwith his David. Could Dantes love for Beatrice or Petrarchsfor Laura have been more pure than that ofMichael Angelo for Vittoria Colonna? 178. Michael Angelo. In the Galerie Czartoryski is a portrait ofVittoria, painted by him, but it is not by coloror by stone, he immortalizes her—it is by hispen; for only second to his power as a sculptoror as an artist is his power as a poet. How can that be, lady, which all men learnBy long experience 1 Shapes that seem alive,Wrought in hard mountain marble, will surviveTheir maker, whom the years to dust return!Thus to effect, cause yields. Art hath her turn,And triumphs over nature. I, who strive with sculpture,Know this well: her wonders liveIn spite of time and death, those tyrants I can give long life to both of usIn either way, by color or by stone,Making the semblance of thy face and hence, when both are buried,Thus thy beauty and my sadness shall be shown,And men will say, For her twas wise to pine. —Michael Angelo. THE MIGHT OF ONE FAIR FACE. The might of one fair face sublimes my love,For it hath weaned my hear


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