Supremely by a song--the thrice-renowned Goito-manufacture. Then he found (Casting about to satisfy the crowd) [Sidenote: He has loved song's results, not song;] That happy vehicle, so late allowed, A sore annoyance; 't was the song's effect He cared for, scarce the song itself: reflect! In the past life, what might be singing's use? Just to delight his Delians, whose profuse Praise, not the toilsome process which procured That praise, enticed Apollo: dreams abjured, No overleaping means for ends--take both For granted or take neither! I am loth To say the rhymes at last were Eglamor's; But Naddo, chuckling, bade competitors Go pine; "the master certes meant to waste No effort, cautiously had probed the taste He 'd please anon: true bard, in short, disturb His title if they could; nor spur nor curb, Fancy nor reason, wanting in him; whence The staple of his verses, common sense: He built on man's broad nature--gift of gifts, That power to build! The world contented shifts With counterfeits enough, a dreary sort Of warriors, statesmen, ere it can extort Its poet-soul--that 's, after all, a freak (The having eyes to see and tongue to speak) With our herd's stupid sterling happiness So plainly incompatible that--yes-- Yes--should a son of his improve the breed And turn out poet, he were cursed indeed!" "Well, there 's Goito and its woods anon, If the worst happen; best go stoutly on Now!" thought Sordello. [Sidenote: So, must effect this to obtain those.] Ay, and goes on yet! You pother with your glossaries to get A notion of the Troubadour's intent In rondel, tenzon, virlai, or sirvent-- Much as you study arras how to twirl His angelot, plaything of page and girl Once; but you surely reach, at last,--or, no! Never quite reach what struck the people so, As from the welter of their time he drew Its elements successively to view, Followed all actions backward on their course, And catching up, unmingled at the source, Such a strength, such a weakness, added then A touch or two, and turned them into men. Virtue took form, nor vice refused a shape; Here heaven opened, there was hell agape, As Saint this simpered past in sanctity, Sinner the other flared portentous by A greedy people. Then why stop, surprised At his success? The scheme was realized Too suddenly in one respect: a crowd Praising, eyes quick to see, and lips as loud To speak, delicious homage to receive, The woman's breath to feel upon his sleeve, Who said, "But Anafest--why asks he less Than Lucio, in your verses? how confess, It seemed too much but yestereve!"--the youth, Who bade him earnestly, "Avow the truth! You love Bianca, surely, from your song; I knew I was unworthy!"--soft or strong,