in addition, the sonnet, three _madrigali_, (pieces without division of stanzas or couplets,) and one _canzone_, which the editors have placed at the head of the collection, entitled by them--"Componimenti men gravi e giocosi." The commencement of a new era in Angelo's thoughts and poetic style appears to us marked by the composition of the two admirable pieces which he dedicated to the memory of Dante Alighieri:-- "Dal mondo scese ai ciechi abissi;" * * * and "Quanto dime si dee non si può dire." Michel Angelo _petitioned_ but once: this was that Leo X. would grant the ashes of Dante to Florence, where the artist "offered to give a becoming burial to the divine poet, in an honourable place in the city."--(Condivi, _Vita di Michel Angelo_.) Previously a stranger to the sentiments of love, the young artist at first wonders and fears at their violence: "Who, then, has lifted me by main force above myself? How can it be that I am no longer my own? And what is the unknown power which, nearer then myself, influences me; which has more control over me; passes into my soul by the eyes; increases there without limit, and overflows my whole being?"--_Madrigali_, 3, 4. Soon, however, he no longer doubts upon the character of this intoxication; he feels that he loves; he traces in sport the most graceful and animated picture of her who has captivated his heart! But this pure and ardent soul speedily becomes alarmed at the profound agitation in which it sees itself plunged; desires to go back to the cause, to recognise its origin, and measure its danger. Michel Angelo recognises, in conjunction with the danger, a sublime reward reserved for him who shall know how to merit it. "The evil which I ought to shun, and the good to which I aspire, are united and hidden in thee, noble and divine beauty! * * * Love, beauty, fortune, or rigour of destiny, it is not you that I can reproach for my sufferings; for in her heart she bears at once compassion and death! Woe to me if my feeble genius succeed only, while consuming itself, in obtaining death from it!"[57] Yes, dangerous and often fatal is that passion which seems to choose its favourite victims among hearts the most generous--intelligence the most ample: "Very few are the men who raise themselves to the heaven; to him who lives in the fire of love, and drinks of its poison, (for to love is one of life's fatal conditions,) if grace transport him not towards supreme and incorruptible beauties--if all his desires learn not to direct themselves thither--Ah! what miseries overwhelm the condition of lover!"--(_Sonnet_ 10.) But this declaration has not been applied to all passionate and deep affections: