O fortunate! e ciascuna era certa
  De la sua sepoltura, ed ancor nulla
  Era per Francia nel lotto deserta.

  L’una vegghiava a studio de la culla,
  E consolando usava l’idioma
  Che pria li padri e le madri trastulla: 

  L’altra traendo a la rocca la chioma
  Favoleggiava con la sua famiglia
  Di Trojani e di Fiesole e di Roma.

  Saria tenuta allor tal maraviglia
  Una Cianghella, un Lapo Salterello,
  Qual or saria Cincinnato e Corniglia.

* * * * *

Translation in blank verse.

  Florence, before she broke the good old bounds,
  Whence yet are heard the chimes of eve and morn. 
  Abided well in modesty and peace. 
  No coronets had she—­no chains of gold—­
  No gaudy sandals—­no rich girdles rare
  That caught the eye more than the person did. 
  Fathers then feared no daughter’s birth, for dread
  Of wantons courting wealth; nor were their homes
  Emptied with exile.  Chamberers had not shown
  What they could dare, to prove their scorn of shame. 
  Your neighbouring uplands then beheld no towers
  Prouder than Rome’s, only to know worse fall. 
  I saw Bellincion Berti walk abroad
  Girt with a thong of leather; and his wife
  Come from the glass without a painted face. 
  Nerlis I saw, and Vecchios, and the like,
  In doublets without cloaks; and their good dames
  Contented while they spun.  Blest women those
  They know the place where they should lie when dead;
  Nor were their beds deserted while they liv’d. 
  They nurs’d their babies; lull’d them with the songs
  And household words of their own infancy;
  And while they drew the distaff’s hair away,
  In the sweet bosoms of their families,
  Told tales of Troy, and Fiesole, and Rome. 
  It had been then as marvellous to see
  A man of Lapo Salterello’s sort,
  Or woman like Cianghella, as to find
  A Cincinnatus or Cornelia now.

* * * * *

No.  V.

THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS.

PULCI.

  L’abate si chiamava Chiaramonte,
  Era del sangue disceso d’Angrante: 
  Di sopra a la badia v’era un gran monte,
  Dove abitava alcun fiero gigante,
  De’ quali uno avea nome Passamonte,
  L’altro Alabastro, e ’l terzo era Morgante: 
  Con certe frombe gittavan da alto,
  Ed ogni di facevan qualche assalto.

  I monachetti non potieno uscire
  Del monistero, o per legne, o per acque. 
  Orlando picchia, e non volieno aprire,
  Fin che a l’abate a la fine pur piacque: 
  Entrato drento cominciava a dire,
  Come colui che di Maria gia nacque,
  Adora, ed era cristian battezzato,
  E com’ egli era a la badia arrivato.

  Disse l’ abate:  Il ben venuto sia: 
  Di quel ch’ io ho, volentier ti daremo,
  Poi the tu credi al figliuol di Maria;
  E la cagion, cavalier, ti diremo,
  Accio che non l’imputi a villania,
  Perche a l’entrar resistenza facemo,
  E non ti volle aprir quel monachetto;
  Cosi intervien chi vive con sospetto.