It would occasion much useless repetition to enter here into any detailed analysis of the work, as we have formerly drawn upon its most valuable portions for the history of Duke Federigo. When considering the state of the fine arts, we shall have to notice a very important part of the poem touching upon that subject—an æsthetic episode on the art and artists of his day, which is introduced on occasion of the Duke's visit to Federigo I., Marquis of Mantua. In regard to the merit of this epic, due allowance must be made for the taste of the age. Its great length necessarily infers a tediousness of detail much more adapted to prose than verse, indeed inherently prosaic. Yet it contains not a few continuous passages of sustained beauty, and it would not be difficult to cull many a sparkling thought and bright simile, while from time to time the dull narrative is enlivened by lyric touches and strokes of poetic fancy, adorning sentiments creditable to the genius and the heart of its author, who, with much sweetness of disposition, appears to have possessed endowments beyond his humble sphere. His patriotic indignation at the ceaseless broils and strifes which convulsed his fatherland may supply us with an example or two:—

"Ma non potendo Italia in pace stare
Sotto lunga quiete, o mai, parendo
Putrida vile e maricia diventare."
No long repose Ausonia e'er can brook,
For peace to her brings languor, and she deems
It loathsome to lie fallow.
"Cum qual costum, che Italia devora,
Del sempre stare in gran confusione,
Disjunta et seperata, e disiare
L'un stato al altro sua destructione."
Sad is the usage that Italia wastes
In ceaseless struggles, aye for separate ends;
Sever'd her states, and each on others' ills
Intent.
"O mischinella
Italia! in te, acecata e disunita
Hor per dollor, te batte ogni mascella."
Ah, poor and wretched Italy! all blind
And disunited, chattering thy jaws
In torments sad.
"O instabil fortuna! che fai secco
Ogni arbor verde, quando te impiacere,
In un momento."
Ah fickle fortune! which the greenest tree
Mayst in a moment wither at thy will.

The following sentiments were likely to find little sympathy among his contemporaries:—

"Il sfrenato desio che nel cor tiene
Di nuova signoria e altrui dominio
L'huom mai si satia; e pur morir conviene."
Man ne'er his soul's unbridled lust can slake
Of further sovereignty, and wider sway;
Yet 'tis appointed him to die.
"Che el facto d'arme se devea fare
Sol per due cose, e l'altre lassar gire:
L'uno è per lo avantagio singolare
E grande oltra misura; e in caso extremo
Si deve l'huomo a la fortuna dare."
Twain are the pleas that justly may be urged
For armed aggression,—aggrandisement great
Beyond all calculation, or extreme
Necessity: nought else can justify
Such hazard of men's fortunes.

A long and somewhat tedious chapter of moralities on the uncertain tenure of life among princes, introduced after describing the assassination of Galeazzo Maria Duke of Milan, in 1476, opens finely:—

"Vedendo il breve e vil peregrinare
Che noi facciam per questo falso mondo,
Anzi un pugno di terra al ver narrare,
Dove, con tanto afanno e tanto pondo,
De dì e nocte, e inextimabil cure,
Cerchiam sallire in alto e andamo al fondo.
Qual e quel si potente che asicure
Ogi la vita sua per l'altro giorno,
Tante son spesse et orende le sciagure?"
Seeing how brief the pilgrimage and vile,
Whereby through this false world we wend our way,
A little earth our only heritage,
Where day and night, with pain and load of care
Incalculable, still we seek to soar,
Yet ever downward sink: where is the man
Potent to day, to-morrow's life to count,
So frequent its mishaps and horrible?

The bland transition from a rigorous winter to balmy Italian spring is thus apostrophised:—

"Intanto el verno
El mondo gia copria col fredo smalto;
E raro volte fu che el tempo iberno
Tanto terribile fusse, onde asvernarsi
Tucti ne andar, per fin che del inferno
Proserpina torno, per adornarsi
De vaghi fiori e de novelle fronde,
Cum lauree chiome al vento dolce sparsi."
Winter meanwhile the far-spread world had clad
In cold enamel; rarely was it known
More rigid: gladly all the troops retired
To quarters, waiting Proserpine's return
On earth, with beauteous flowers bedecked, and leaves
Of freshest green, when in the gentle breeze
Should stream her laurel tresses.

The poet's eloquent tribute to Florentine freedom, and its value to the cause of liberty, must close our sparing extracts.[89]

"Perche privato el popul Fiorentino
Della sua libertade, era cavare
Un occhio a Italia, e metterla al declino."
For to curtail fair Florence of her freedom
Were to pluck forth an eye from Italy,
And cause her orb to wane.