PETRARCH THE AUTHOR 



possess great intrinsic beauty. There is, first of all, the 

 famous one to Italy, Italia mia, in which the author la- 

 ments the discords of his country and the presence of the 

 barbarian troops, an ode for which Luigi Marsih wrote 

 a commentary. Then we have the Spirto Gentil, which 

 has often been regarded as an address to Cola di Rienzi 

 (a little altered after that hero's downfall, as Cian 

 would have us believe), and which Carducci and Fer- 

 rari, contrary to the less enthusiastic de Sanctis, regard 

 as one of the greatest lyrics produced by the Latin 

 races. There is also one on Fame, which is of more than 

 personal interest, a poem meant for the great captain, 

 Pandolfo Malatesta, Uaspettata vertu: " That virtue 

 which flowered in you when Love began to wage 

 war upon you has now produced fruit worthy of that 

 flower . . . ; wherefore my heart bids me write upon paper 

 words which shall bring lustre upon your name, for in no 

 other material can that be done. Do you believe that 

 Caesar or Marcellus or Paulus ^milius or Scipio would 

 have been what they are, by the help of bronze or 

 marble ? Pandolfo mine, those works are too pale to 

 count upon for long duration. It is our work which ren- 

 ders men immortal, bestowing fame." This is certainly 

 Renaissance in spirit; and so is stiU another poem well 

 worth reading, on Glory, Una donna piu bella assai 

 che 7 sole, which alludes to his coronation. Again, Hke 

 the Provencal poets, he writes a compianto or lament, a 

 poem on the death of Cino of Pistoia, " Weep, ladies, 

 and let Love weep with you." 



