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This Luria, our inevitable foe,

Confessed a mercenary and a Moor,

Born free from any ties that bind the rest

Of common faith in Heaven or hope on Earth,
No Past with us, no Future, such a Spirit

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Shall hold the path from which our stanchest broke,
Stand firm where every famed precursor fell?

Intellect

Upon that broad Man's heart of his, I go!
On what I know must be, yet while I live
Will never be, because I live and know!
Brute-force shall not rule Florence!
May rule her, bad or good as chance supplies,
But Intellect it shall be, pure if bad,
And Intellect's tradition so kept up

Till the good comes 't was Intellect that ruled,
Not Brute-force bringing from the battle-field
The attributes of wisdom, foresight's graces
We lent it there to lure its grossness on;
All which it took for earnest and kept safe
To show against us in our market-place,

Just as the plumes and tags and swordsman's-gear
(Fetched from the camp where at their foolish best
When all was done they frightened nobody)

Perk in our faces in the street, forsooth,

With our own warrant and allowance.
The whole procedure 's overcharged,

No!
its end

In too strict keeping with the bad first step.
To conquer Pisa was sheer inspiration!
Well then, to perish for a single fault,

Let that be simple justice! There, my Lapo!
The Moorish front ill suits our Duomo's body
Blot it out and bid Luria's sentence come!"

pp. 6, 7.

We must next give a glimpse of the character of Luria himself.

"Lur. I wonder, do you guess why I delay Involuntarily the final blow

As long as possible? Peace follows it!

Florence at peace, and the calm studious heads
Come out again, the penetrating eyes;
As if a spell broke, all 's resumed, each art
You boast, more vivid that it slept awhile!
'Gainst the glad heaven, o'er the white palace-front
The interrupted scaffold climbs anew;

Nor age's wisdom in its turn find strength,
But silently the first gift dies away,

And tho' the new stays never both at once!
Life's time of savage instinct 's o'er with me,
It fades and dies away, past trusting more,
As if to punish the ingratitude

With which I turned to grow in these new lights
And learned to look with European eyes.

Yet it is better, this cold certain way,

Where Braccio's brow tells nothing,- Puccio's mouth,
Domizia's eyes reject the searcher . . yes . .
For on their calm sagacity I lean,

Their sense of right, deliberate choice of good,
That as they know my deeds they deal with me.
Yes, that is better. . that is best of all!
Such faith stays when the wild belief would go !
Yes when the desert creature's heart, at fault
Amid the scattering tempest and its sands,
Betrays its steps into the pathless drift-
The calm instructed eye of man holds fast
By the sole bearing of the visible star,
Sure that when slow the whirling wreck subsides,
The boundaries, lost now, shall be found again, -
The palm-trees and the pyramid over all!
Yes: I trust Florence

Pisa is deceived."

- Pp. 10, 11.

Luria puts the letter in his bosom, and keeps it unopened. He, however, demands an explanation of Braccio, who thinks a bold confession the best move to make. Domizia, who is present, imagines her end secure. We copy a part of Braccio speaks.

this scene.

"But Florence is no simple John or James
To have his toy, his fancy, his conceit,
That he's the one excepted man by fate,

And, when fate shows him he's mistaken there,
Die with all good men's praise, and yield his place
To Paul and George intent to try their chance:
Florence exists because these pass away;
She's a contrivance to supply a type
Of Man which men's deficiencies refuse;

She binds so many, she grows out of them

Stands steady o'er their numbers, tho' they change

And pass away. . there's always what upholds,
Always enough to fashion the great show!
As, see, yon hanging city in the sun

Of shapely cloud substantially the same!
A thousand vapors rise and sink again,
Are interfused, and live their life and die,
Yet ever hangs the steady show i' the air
Under the sun's straight influence: that is well!
That is worth Heaven to hold, and God to bless!
And so is Florence, the unseen sun above,
That draws and holds suspended all of us —
Binds transient mists and vapors into one
Differing from each and better than they all.
And shall she dare to stake this permanence
On any one man's faith? Man's heart is weak,
And its temptations many: let her prove

Each servant to the very uttermost

Before she grant him her reward, I say!

"Dom. And as for hearts she chances to mistake, That are not destined to receive reward,

What should she do for these?

"Brac.

What does she not?

Say that she gives them but herself to serve!
Here's Luria-what had profited his strength,
When half an hour of sober fancying
Had shown him step by step the uselessness
Of strength exerted for its proper sake?
But the truth is she did create that strength,
Drew to the end the corresponding means.
The world is wide. . are we the only men?
Oh, for the time, the social purpose' sake,
Use words agreed on, bandy epithets,
Call any man, sole Great and Wise and Good!
But shall we, therefore, standing by ourselves,
Insult our souls and God with the same speech?
There swarm the ignoble thousands under Him
What marks us from the hundreds and the tens?
Florence took up, turned all one way the soul
Of Luria with its fires, and here he stands!
She takes me out of all the world as him,
Fixing my coldness till like ice it stays
The fire! So Braccio, Luria, which is best?

"Lur. Ah, brave me? And is this indeed the way

To gain your good word and sincere esteem?

Am I the baited tiger that must turn

And fight his baiters to deserve their praise?
Obedience has no fruit then? Be it so!

Do you indeed remember I stand here

Nor age's wisdom in its turn find strength,
But silently the first gift dies away,

And tho' the new stays never both at once!
Life's time of savage instinct's o'er with me,
It fades and dies away, past trusting more,
As if to punish the ingratitude

With which I turned to grow in these new lights
And learned to look with European eyes.
Yet it is better, this cold certain way,
Where Braccio's brow tells nothing,
Domizia's eyes reject the searcher . . yes . .
For on their calm sagacity I lean,

- Puccio's mouth,

Their sense of right, deliberate choice of good,
That as they know my deeds they deal with me.
Yes, that is better. . that is best of all!
Such faith stays when the wild belief would go!
Yes when the desert creature's heart, at fault
Amid the scattering tempest and its sands,
Betrays its steps into the pathless drift -
The calm instructed eye of man holds fast
By the sole bearing of the visible star,

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Sure that when slow the whirling wreck subsides,
The boundaries, lost now, shall be found again, —
The palm-trees and the pyramid over all!
Yes I trust Florence Pisa is deceived."

pp. 10, 11.

Luria puts the letter in his bosom, and keeps it unopened. He, however, demands an explanation of Braccio, who thinks a bold confession the best move to make. Domizia, who is present, imagines her end secure. We copy a part of this scene. Braccio speaks.

"But Florence is no simple John or James
To have his toy, his fancy, his conceit,
That he's the one excepted man by fate,

And, when fate shows him he's mistaken there,
Die with all good men's praise, and yield his place
To Paul and George intent to try their chance:
Florence exists because these pass away;
She's a contrivance to supply a type
Of Man which men's deficiencies refuse;

She binds so many, she grows out of them

Stands steady o'er their numbers, tho' they change

And pass away . . there's always what upholds,
Always enough to fashion the great show!
As, see, yon hanging city in the sun

Of shapely cloud substantially the same!
A thousand vapors rise and sink again,
Are interfused, and live their life and die, -
Yet ever hangs the steady show i' the air
Under the sun's straight influence: that is well!
That is worth Heaven to hold, and God to bless!
And so is Florence, the unseen sun above,

That draws and holds suspended all of us
Binds transient mists and vapors into one
Differing from each and better than they all.
And shall she dare to stake this permanence
On any one man's faith?
Man's heart is weak,

And its temptations mány: let her prove
Each servant to the very uttermost

Before she grant him her reward, I say!

"Dom. And as for hearts she chances to mistake,

That are not destined to receive reward,

What should she do for these?

"Brac.

What does she not?

Say that she gives them but herself to serve!
Here's Luria- what had profited his strength,
When half an hour of sober fancying
Had shown him step by step the uselessness
Of strength exerted for its proper sake?
But the truth is she did create that strength,
Drew to the end the corresponding means.
The world is wide. . are we the only men?
Oh, for the time, the social purpose' sake,
Use words agreed on, bandy epithets,
Call any man, sole Great and Wise and Good!
But shall we, therefore, standing by ourselves,
Insult our souls and God with the same speech?
There swarm the ignoble thousands under Him
What marks us from the hundreds and the tens?
Florence took up, turned all one way the soul
Of Luria with its fires, and here he stands!
She takes me out of all the world as him,
Fixing my coldness till like ice it stays

The fire! So Braccio, Luria, which is best?

“ Lur. Ah, brave me ? And is this indeed the way To gain your good word and sincere esteem ? Am I the baited tiger that must turn

And fight his baiters to deserve their praise? Obedience has no fruit then? Be it so ! you indeed remember I stand here

Do

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