Take, for God's recompense, that righteousness!

FOOTNOTES:

[2] They show at Verona, as the tomb of Juliet, an empty trough of
stone.

[3] These famous statues recline in the Sagrestia Nuova, on the tombs
of Giuliano de' Medici, third son of Lorenzo the Magnificent,
and Lorenzo of Urbino, his grandson. Strozzi's epigram on the
Night, with Michel Angelo's rejoinder, is well known.

[4] This mocking task was set by Pietro, the unworthy successor of
Lorenzo the Magnificent.

[5] Savonarola was burnt for his testimony against papal corruptions
as early as March, 1498: and, as late as our own day, it has
been a custom in Florence to strew with violets the pavement
where he suffered, in grateful recognition of the anniversary.

[6] See his description of the plague in Florence.

[7] Charles of Anjou, in his passage through Florence, was permitted
to see this picture while yet in Cimabue's "bottega." The
populace followed the royal visitor, and, from the universal
delight and admiration, the quarter of the city in which the
artist lived was called "Borgo Allegri." The picture was
carried in triumph to the church, and deposited there.

[8] How Cimabue found Giotto, the shepherd-boy, sketching a ram of
his flock upon a stone, is prettily told by Vasari,--who also
relates that the elder artist Margheritone died "infastidito"
of the successes of the new school.

[9] The Florentines, to whom the Ravennese refused the body of Dante
(demanded of them "in a late remorse of love"), have given a
cenotaph in this church to their divine poet. Something less
than a grave!

[10] In allusion to Mr. Kirkup's discovery of Giotto's fresco portrait
of Dante.

[11] Galileo's villa, close to Florence, is built on an eminence
called Bellosguardo.

PART II.

I wrote a meditation and a dream,
Hearing a little child sing in the street:
I leant upon his music as a theme,
Till it gave way beneath my heart's full beat
Which tried at an exultant prophecy
But dropped before the measure was complete--
Alas, for songs and hearts! O Tuscany,
O Dante's Florence, is the type too plain?
Didst thou, too, only sing of liberty
As little children take up a high strain
With unintentioned voices, and break off
To sleep upon their m