IN April 1465, as already stated, Federigo of Aragon, Prince of Naples, and Lorenzo de’ Medici, then seventeen years old, met at Pisa. A letter addressed by the young Florentine to his royal friend, probably in the following year, begins thus:[1] ‘When thou, illustrious Federigo, didst visit the most ancient city of Pisa, thou didst turn our conversation to the subject of those who have written poetry in the Tuscan language, and didst manifest a laudable desire to see all their works collected by my care. Endeavouring to fulfil thy wishes, I had a diligent search made for all the old manuscripts, and chose from them the least imperfect, which I now present to your Highness, arranged in order in a book which I earnestly desire thee approvingly to accept, as a token of especial goodwill. Let no one despise this Tuscan tongue as poor and rude, for he who can rightly estimate its value will find it rich and well cultivated. There is, indeed, nothing vigorous or graceful, impressive or ingenious, witty, harmonious, or majestic, of which examples may not be found in our two greatest poets, Dante and Petrarca; and after them, by those whom thou, Prince, hast recalled to life. ‘Petrarca shows in one of his letters that the ancient Romans were acquainted with rhyme which, after a long interval, revived in Sicily, spread through France, and was restored to Italy, its original home. The first who gave our modern poetry its peculiar form of verse were Guittone of Arezzo and his Bolognese contemporary Guido Guinicello. They were both well versed in philosophy, and wrote profoundly; but the first is somewhat harsh and rude, deficient in ornament and eloquence. The latter, who is far more clear and elegant, was called by Dante “his father,” and the father of all who write sweet and graceful love songs. He was unquestionably the first to impress on our beautiful language that attractive colouring which the bard of Arezzo had but faintly indicated. After these shone Guido Cavalcanti, one of the keenest dialecticians and most admirable philosophers of his time. He was handsome in person, and his writings are to me in the highest degree attractive; his imagination is rich and wonderfully grand; his reasoning is weighty; his tone extremely dignified. These qualities are heightened by the rich charm of a style that sets them off like a resplendent robe. He needed but a wider field to have attained the highest honours. ‘Bonagiunta of Lucca and the notary of Lentino must not be overlooked; but though earnest and weighty writers, they were so destitute of refined taste, that they must be content to find a place in this collection of honoured names. Another contemporary of Guittone was Pier delle Vigne, of whom Dante said that “he had both the keys of Frederick’s heart.” Only a few short pieces by him remain, and they are not wanting in depth or earnestness.