ts constantly dwelling on her, his
glorious genius created out of Laura Noves an ideal being who was
woven into his deepest feelings, and his most aerial fancies, and his
highest aspirations. What mattered it to him that the real Laura as
years went on grew middle-aged and changed? His own Laura was gifted
with immortal youth. Even after her death his imagination was still
filled with her; and the sweet cadences in which he mourns her, and
the more exalted strains in which he follows her to her home above,
will always be regarded by his readers as some of the most precious
gems he has left them.

But Laura was not the poet's only theme. Love of his country was
probably Petrarch's strangest passion. Italy was then a complete
patchwork of small states, and it was the dream of Petrarch's whole
life to see the Peninsula united from the Alps to Spartivento. In
words burning as the summer suns which shine upon his native land, and
powerful as the sudden storms which sometimes sweep over her shores,
he spoke out this great longing of his life. He was also the author of
many Latin poems, which were held in even higher honor than his
writings in Italian. One of these Latin poems--that on Scipio
Africanus--was a great favorite among his contemporaries, but to us it
is the coldest and stiffest of his works.

Petrarch's fame went on steadily increasing, until at thirty-seven he
was universally acknowledged as the first poet of the period. When he
had reached that age, there came to his quiet little home at Val
Chiusa two messengers from two great European cities--namely, Rome and
Paris--each of which begged him to accept the laureate's crown within
its walls. The true Italian could not long doubt which offer he
should choose. The Paris invitation was courteously but immediately
refused, and proudly and gratefully Petrarch hastened to Rome.

The act of receiving the crown of a poet laureate was, in those days
of magnificent ceremonials, attended with much really regal pomp.
Dressed in a robe of purple velvet glittering with jewels, such as
suited the taste for splendor of the time, and such as in truth well
befitted a literary prince, Petrarch was conducted with much public
state through Rome to the Capitol, where he was thrice crowned: once
with laurel, once with ivy and once with myrtle. The laurel meant
glory; the ivy signified the lasting fame which should attend his
work; the myrtle was the lawful right of Laura's poet.

T