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pierino da vinci.
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but most of all to Luca Martini,[1] who mourned him deeply. All those, moreover, who had hoped to see from his hands such works as are rarely beheld, were in due proportion afflicted by the loss of this artist, and Messer Benedetto Varchi, a warm admirer of his genius, and the friend of all who give evidence of distinguished powers, afterwards composed the following sonnet to his memory:—
Come potrò da me, se tu non presti
O forza, o tregua al mio gran daolo interno,
Soffrirlo in pace mai, Signo superno,
Che fin qui nuova ognor pena mi desti?
Dunque de’ miei piu cari or quegli, or questi
Verde sen voli all alto Asilo eterno
Ed io canuto in questo basso inferno
A pianger sempre, e lamentarmi resti?
Sciolgami almen tua gran bontade quinci,
Or che reo fato nostro, o sua ventura,
Ch'era ben degno d’ultra vita, e gente,
Per far più ricco il cielo, e la scultura
Men bella, e me col buon Martin dolente,
N’ha privi, o pieta, del secondo Vinci.[2]
O forza, o tregua al mio gran daolo interno,
Soffrirlo in pace mai, Signo superno,
Che fin qui nuova ognor pena mi desti?
Dunque de’ miei piu cari or quegli, or questi
Verde sen voli all alto Asilo eterno
Ed io canuto in questo basso inferno
A pianger sempre, e lamentarmi resti?
Sciolgami almen tua gran bontade quinci,
Or che reo fato nostro, o sua ventura,
Ch'era ben degno d’ultra vita, e gente,
Per far più ricco il cielo, e la scultura
Men bella, e me col buon Martin dolente,
N’ha privi, o pieta, del secondo Vinci.[2]
- ↑ Luca Martini was himself a poet, and used the credit he enjoyed with Duke Cosimo to the furtherance of letters, and for the protection of learned and distinguished men. Benedetto Varchi, for example, having been exiled as a partizan of the Strozzi family, was himself recalled, and restored to the favour of the Duke by the good offices of Martini.
- ↑ How shall I find, O Lord of all supreme,
Or peace or truce to this great grief, or power
To suffer it in peace, if from thy hand
I find not aid in this still growing pain!
For ever of my dearest, one or other
Departs in his green youth to yon high heaven.
While I, grey mourner, of this darkened earth,
Wearied, am left to weep. Oh, let thy pity,
Father, remove me hence. Since our dark fate
Or his great bliss well-merited, hath reft us
Martin, and this thy suppliant, of that light
Which now enriches Heaven, but leaves his Art,
Sad sculpture, reft of beauty, and our hearts
Widowed of their best wealth—the second Vinci.
