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GIULIO ROMANO.

Mox etiam agrestes Satyros nudavit, et asper
Incolumi gravitate jocum tentavit: eo quod
Illecebris erat et gratâ novitate morandus

Spectator, functusque sacris, et potus, et exlex.

Horatius.

LET loose thy Gods, oh Roman!-Fauns uncouth,

And a mad crew of vintage-girdled youth

With their licentious loves: the Bromian lair

Burns in a torrent of voluptuous air.

But Venus, leaning from her dove-drawn car,

To press the sinews of the God of War,

Or Perseus on his own heroic steed,

Lend their old beauty to the outworn creed,
As if the charm of some magician's wand
Had given fantastic life to all the band.

ALBANO.

They came sweet music ushered the odorous way,

And wanton air in twenty sweet forms danced
After her fingers; beauty and love advanced

Their ensigns in the downless rosy faces

Of youths and maids, led after by the Graces.

Chapman (completion of Marlowe's Hero and Leander).

LAUNCH thy gay pinnace in the noonday beam,

Let flutes breathe clear o'er Cydnus' crisped stream;

The Oreads, scarfed in rainbow zones, are fanned

By the warm zephyr of this faery-land;

Earth gleams with flowers, the air with butterflies,"Tis a gay fable, and like fable dies.

MICHAEL ANGELO CARAVAGGIO.

Our haughty Life is crowned with Darkness.

Wordsworth.

Is this a Judith, Painter, that I see?

Each woman is a Judith unto thee:

The warlike mail of shadow on the breast,

The full swart limbs, the dusky-folded vest,

And the high profile, blanched with passion's flood,
Belong to Beauty in a guilty mood.

GUIDO RENI.

Guido ist eigentlich der Mahler der Seele.

Schelling.

FAIR as the soul which never dreamed of ill,

Strong as the presence of a virtuous will,

In the white chambers of these downy breasts
The chastest energy of Woman rests;

In these slight lines of infant innocence

Dwells human beauty undisturbed by sense;
In these last pangs heroic limbs endure
The spirit triumphs and the heart is pure.

SALVATOR ROSA.

-Questa selva selvaggia ed aspra e forte

Che nel pensier rinuova la paura.

Dante.

THE sylvan painter from some tangled cave,

Where feathering larches through the rock-clefts wave, On summer days would watch the clouds that sail

With milky bosoms on the southern gale :

Or bade fierce winds in Ocean chasms arise
Which rocked the boughs with fitful harmonies,
Shattered the crests of mighty groves, and rent
The glorious earth with that bold element.

Art, like a wood-nymph, passionate and free,
Went out to summer 'neath the greenwood tree,

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