[Footnote 459: _Carmina Quinque Illustrium Poetarum_, p. 7.] [Footnote 460: _Ib._ p. 23.] [Footnote 461: None of these things he tried; but only ran, And clasped with his sweet arms the angry man; Hung on his neck, rained kisses forth that Heaven Envied from those red lips to mortals given; In number like ripe ears of ruddy corn, Or flowers beneath the breath of April born. Still doubting, Maximus? Change place with me: Gladly I'd bear such infidelity.] Bembo's talent lay in compositions of this kind. His verses, to quote the phrase of Gyraldus, were uniformly 'sweet, soft, and delicate.' When he attempted work involving more sustained effort of the intellect and greater variety of treatment, he was not so successful. His hexameter poem 'Benacus,' a description of the Lago di Garda, dedicated to Gian Matteo Giberti, reads like an imitation of Catullus without the Roman poet's grace of style or wealth of fancy.[462] Among Bembo's most perfect compositions may be reckoned his epitaphs on celebrated contemporaries. The following written for Poliziano, deserves quotation.[463] Not only is the death of the scholar, following close upon that of his patron, happily touched, but the last line pays a proper tribute to Poliziano as an Italian poet:-- Duceret extincto cum mors Laurente triumphum, Lætaque pullatis inveheretur equis, Respicit insano ferientem pollice chordas, Viscera singultu concutiente, virum. Mirata est, tenuitque jugum; furit ipse, pioque Laurentem cunctos flagitat ore Deos: Miscebat precibus lacrymas, lacrymisque dolorem; Verba ministrabat liberiora dolor. Risit, et antiquæ non immemor illa querelæ, Orphei Tartareæ cum patuere viæ, Hic etiam infernas tentat rescindere leges, Fertque suas, dixit, in mea jura manus. Protinus et flentem percussit dura poetam, Rupit et in medio pectora docta sono. Heu sic tu raptus, sic te mala fata tulerunt, Arbiter Ausoniæ, Politiane, lyræ.[464] [Footnote 462: _Carmina Quinque Illustrium Poetarum_, pp. 26-34.] [Footnote 463: _Ib._ p. 38.] [Footnote 464: 'When Lorenzo was dead, and Death went by in triumph, drawn by her black horses, her eyes fell on one who madly struck the chords, while sighs convulsed his breast. She turned, and stayed the car; he storms and calls on all the gods for Lorenzo, mixing tears with prayers, and sorrow with his tears, while sorrow suggests words of wilder freedom. Death laughed; remembering her old grudge, when Orpheus made his way to hell, she cried, "Lo, he too seeks to abrogate our laws, and lays his hand upon my rights!" Nor more delay; she struck the poet while he wept, and broke his heart-strings in the middle of his sighs. Alas! thus wast thou taken from us, ravished by harsh fate, Politian, master of the Italian lyre!']