[504] A letter addressed by Poliziano to Lorenzo in 1488 from Acquapendente justifies the belief that the cultivation of popular poetry had become a kind of pastime in the Medicean circle. He says: "Yesterday we set off for Viterbo. We are all gay, and make good cheer, and all along the road we whet our wits at furbishing up some song or May-day ditty, which here in Acquapendente with their Roman costume seem to me more fanciful than those at home." See Del Lungo's edition of the Prose Volgari, etc., p. 75.

[505] See above, [p. 378]. For translations of several Ballate by Poliziano I may refer to my [Sketches and Studies in Italy], pp. 190-225.

[506] For translations of detached Rispetti, see my [Sketches and Studies in Italy], p. 197.

[507] I have translated one long Rispetto Continuato or Lettera in Istrambotti; see [Sketches and Studies in Italy], pp. 198-201. It is probable that Poliziano wrote these love-poems for his young friends, which may excuse the frequent repetitions of the same thoughts and phrases.

[508] In Carducci's edition, pp. 342, 355, 363. The first seems to me untranslatable. The second and third are translated by me in [Sketches and Studies, etc.], pp. 202-207.

[509]

But she who gives my soul sorrow and mirth,
Seemed Pallas in her gait, and in her face
Venus; for every grace
And beauty of the world in her combined.
Merely to think, far more to tell my mind,
Of that most wondrous sight, confoundeth me;
For mid the maidens she
Who most resembled her was found most rare.
Call ye another first among the fair;
Not first, but sole before my lady set:
Lily and violet.
And all the flowers below the rose must bow.
Down from her royal head and lustrous brow
The golden curls fell sportively unpent.
While through the choir she went
With feet well lessoned to the rhythmic sound.

[510]

White is the maid, and white the robe around her,
With buds and roses and thin grasses pied;
Enwreathéd folds of golden tresses crowned her,
Shadowing her forehead fair with modest pride:
The wild wood smiled; the thicket, where he found her,
To ease his anguish, bloomed on every side:
Serene she sits, with gesture queenly mild,
And with her brow tempers the tempests wild.
. . . . . . . . . .
Reclined he found her on the swarded grass
In jocund mood; and garlands she had made
Of every flower that in the meadow was,
Or on her robe of many hues displayed;
But when she saw the youth before her pass,
Raising her timid head awhile she stayed;
Then with her white hand gathered up her dress,
And stood, lap full of flowers, in loveliness.

[511] Praised for their incomparable sweetness by Scaliger, and translated into softest Italian by Firenzuola.