"Primus et in Martem quæ sint pia fata Tonantis,
Et manibus nati monstra parenta refert;
At liber et bellis laudatque et honore secundus,
Et gestis magnum rebus in orbe Ducem."

The very moderate anticipations raised by this proemium, which we leave in its rugged original, are not surpassed in the context, dull and common-place as it is in sentiment, prosaic and unpolished in style. Losing sight of his avowed object of keeping apart the deeds of Mars, the ancient divinity, from those of Federigo, his living type, in order to illustrate the parallel which it is his plan to draw between them, he strangely jumbles both; and, following the new-born classicism of the day, he has crammed his rough verses with nearly every name that heathen mythology, history, or geography can muster, in senseless and jarring confusion. With a view to exalt his hero as a second Hercules, he enumerates a series of labours and achievements from his childhood, when he sprang from bed and strangled a snake that had frightened all his attendants. This is followed by a farrago of allegorical struggles, combats, and triumphs over temptations or evil principles, anticipating somewhat the idea of the Pilgrim's Progress, but with this important difference, that the motives, arms, and aids are all borrowed from pagan mythology. So entirely is Federigo lost among the gods and demigods who crowd the stage, that his character or actions are seldom brought on the foreground at all, and never with sufficient idiosyncracy to avail for the development of either. Finally, we find him deified in Olympus, and the epic closes with an empty bravado that none ever more worthily emulated Alcides.

The other MS. of Gian Maria Filelfo which demands a passing note is No. 804 of the same library, and is dated seven years later than the Martiados. It contains some six thousand Italian verses, consisting for the most part of minor poems on a variety of subjects; the volume is dedicated to Federigo, but many of the Canzoni morali are inscribed to distinguished personages, not omitting the Duke's rancorous foe Sigismondo Pandolfo Malatesta, to whose vanity such incense could not have been unpalatable. In treating of religious topics, the author, for the time, and by an effort, lays aside the pagan strain which prevails in his other lays, and though generally selecting the sonnet or terza rima, he thus affects to disclaim all rivalry with their mighty masters:—

"To these rude rhymes, alas, nor Petrarch's style
Is given, nor the good Dante's pungent file."

Yet there is considerable ambition in the rhythm, and although prolix, like other contemporary compositions, and inflated by superabundant episodes, it is not devoid of occasional poetic feeling. In the dedicatory address he thus speaks of his volume:—

"De! dunque Signor mio, per tua merciede
Con lieta fronte schorri esto libretto,
Il qual sotto il tuo titolo honor chiede.
Forse leggiendol' ne fia alcun dilecto,
Per esser di molte herbe uno orticciuolo,
Quantunque el vi sia dentro erro e diffecto:
Pur che 'l non sia di tutto il vano orciuolo
Col qual l'aqua si tira, da le donne
Che feciono ai mariti si gran duolo.
Ogni casa non è posta in colonne;
Ognuno esser non può Dante o Patrarcha;
Ognun non porta pretiose gonne.
Ma spesse volte piccoletta barcha
Arriva in luoco, ove andando s'anniegha
Tal grossa nave che molto è men charcha.
De! s'al huom val quanto il Signor più priegha,
China la fronte altiera a questa scorza,
Ch'in questo mio arbor del pieta non niegha.
Et come il navichare hor poggia, hor orza,
Hor pope avvien, secondo i venti e l'onde
Cosi convien ch'in vario error mi torza.
Hor la mia voglia la ragion confonde,
Hor l'appetito impera, hor vivo in doglia,
Hor lieto, hor desioso, et non so donde.
Qual l'autunno ogni verde arbor spoglia,
Inverno asciugha, e primavera inverde,
Tal varia e nostra externa et mental voglia.
Ma tristo chiunque indarno il tempo perde,
Ch'è peggio ch'esser rozzo e senza lima,
Però che chi non è mai non riverde.
De! leggi, Signor mio, la vulghar ryma,
Et sia ti un modo da cacciar la noia,
Quando di gran facciende hai maggior stima."

As we shall give a place in our [Appendix] to Giovanni Sanzi's judgment upon the painters of his day, we may here insert Filelfo's sonnet to Gentile Bellini.

"Bellin! s'io t'hebbi mai fitto nel cuore,
Se mai chognobbi it tuo preclaro ingiegno,
Hor confess'io che sei fra gli altri degno,
D'haver qual hebbe Apelle ogni alto honore.
Veduta ho l'opra tua col suo cholore,
La venustà col suo sguardo benegno,
Ogni suo movimento et nobil segno
Che ben demonstri il tuo gientil valore.
Gientile! io t'ero affectionato assai,
Parendomi la tua virtu più rara
Che soglia esser l'ucciel che è solo al mondo;
Ne pingier sa chi da te non impara,
Che gloria a quegli antiqui hormai tolta hai,
In chi questa arte postha ogni suo pondo.
Forsse che troppo habondo
A te che non ti churi di tue lode,
Ma diciendone assai l'alma mia ghode."

When compared with contemporary efforts, these specimens, and others which it would be easy to add, deserve a better fate than the neglect to which, in common with most of their author's works, they have been consigned; nor do they bear out the imputation of careless haste, alleged by Tiraboschi as the prevailing error of his very numerous and various productions. The paucity of these which have issued from the press may, however, be taken as confirming that judgment, as well as the suppression of his narrative of the campaign of Finale in 1447, after it had been printed by Muratori for his Scriptores. But poetry may be accounted his forte,—a somewhat remarkable circumstance, considering the unrivalled reputation he established as an improvisatore of verses on any number not exceeding one hundred themes suddenly proposed, as such facility has rarely been conjoined with true poetic fire.