His brother Guiliano had been deeply attached to a lovely girl named Simonetta, who died in the bloom of beauty: it is supposed, that he alludes to her when he describes the excitement caused by the public funeral of a beautiful young lady, whose admirers crowded round her open bier, and gazed, for the last time, on the pallid face of the object of their adoration, which was exposed uncovered to their view, accompanying the funeral with their tears. All the eloquence and talent of Florence were exerted to pay honour to her memory in prose and verse. Lorenzo himself composed a few sonnets, and to give them greater effect, he tried to imagine that he also was a lover, mourning over the untimely end of one beloved, and then again he reflected that he might write still more feelingly, if he could discover a living object, to whom to address his homage. He looked round among the beauties of Florence, to discover one whose perfections should satisfy his judgment, as worthy of inspiring a sincere and constant attachment. At last, at a public festival, he beheld a girl so lovely and attractive in her appearance, that, as he gazed on her, he said to himself, "If this person were possessed of the delicacy, the understanding, and accomplishments of her who is lately dead, most certainly she excels her in personal charms." On becoming acquainted with her, he found his fondest dreams realised: she was perfectly beautiful, clever, vivacious, yet full of dignity and sweetness. It is a pity that this account rather chills us as we read his sonnets, and we feel them rather as coming from the head than heart: yet they are tender and graceful; and it is not difficult for a youth of an ardent disposition, and an Italian, to love a beautiful girl, even at the word of command. One of these sonnets possesses the simplicity and grace which distinguish Lorenzo's poetry: we give Mr. Roscoe's translation of it, and yet are not satisfied. Mr. Roscoe wrote at a time when the common-places of versification, brought in by the imitators of Pope, were still in vogue; but this observation applies chiefly to the beginning of the sonnet; the conclusion is better, yet the whole wants the brightness and spring of the original. Happy are those who can refer to that.[78] "Seek he who will in grandeur to be blest, Place in proud halls, and splendid courts, his joy; For pleasure or for gold his arts employ, Whilst all his hours unnumber'd cares molest. A little field in native flowrets drest, A rivulet in soft numbers gliding by, A bird, whose love-sick note salutes the sky, With sweeter magic lull my cares to rest. And shadowy woods, and rocks, and towering hills, And caves obscure, and nature's freeborn train, And some lone nymph that timorous speeds along, Each in my mind some gentle thought instils Of those bright eyes that absence shrouds in vain; Ah, gentle thoughts! soon lost the city cares among."