To make matters worse, came the _villeggiatura_ at Caffaggiuolo, whither Clarice went in November. This was, from position and climate, a melancholy winter residence, where loneliness and bad weather seem to have put the excitable man doubly out of humour, and all the more so because Lorenzo’s old tutor, Gentile Becchi, who lived at the country house with the family, grew very unsociable in consequence of the sad circumstances of the time, which weighed heavily on the mind of this vehement accuser of the Pope. Gentile had felt the events of the spring deeply, and had been terribly cast down by the death of Giuliano. Poliziano had tried to cheer him with an ode, which has acquired historical importance from the testimony it bears to the hopes of foreign aid which were cherished by the adherents of the Medici and many of the Florentine people; hopes which were but very partially fulfilled.[49] AD GENTILEM EPISCOPUM. GENTILES animi maxima pars mei, Communi nimium sorte quid angeris? Quid curis animum lugubribus teris, Et me discrucias simul? Passi digna quidem perpetuo sumus Luctu, qui mediis (heu miseri) sacris Illum, illum juvenem vidimus, O nefas! Stratum sacrilega manu! At sunt attonito quæ dare pectori Solamen valeant plurima, nam super Est, qui vel gremio creverit in tuo, Laurens Etruriæ caput. Laurens quem patriæ cœlicolum pater Tutum terrifica gorgone præstitit; Quem Tuscus pariter, quem Venetus Leo Servant, et Draco pervigil. Illi bellipotens excubat Hercules; Illi fatiferis militat arcubus; Illi mittit equos Francia martios, Felix Francia regibus. Circumstat populus murmure dissono; Circumstant juvenem purpurei patres; Causa vincimus et robore militum; Hac stat Juppiter, hac favet. Quare, O cum misera quid tibi Nenia, Si nil proficimus? quin potius gravis Absterisse bono lætitiæ die Audes nubila pectoris. Nam cum jam gelidos umbra reliquerit Artus, non dolor hanc perpetuus retro Mordacesve trahunt sollicitudines, Mentis, curaque pervicax. Thus rendered by Roscoe:— O FRIEND, whose woes this bosom shares, Why ceaseless mourn our mutual cares? Ah! why thy days to grief resign, With thy regrets recalling mine? Eternal o’er the atrocious deed, ‘Tis true our kindred hearts may bleed, When he, twin glory of our land, Fell by a sacrilegious hand! But sure, my friend, there yet remains Some solace for these piercing pains, Whilst he, once nurtured at thy side, Lorenzo lives, Etruria’s pride. Lorenzo, o’er whose favoured head Jove his terrific gorgon spread; Whose steps the lion-pair await, Of Florence and Venetia’s state. For him his crest the dragon rears; For him the Herculean band appears; Her martial succour Gallia brings— Gallia, that glories in her kings!