"Resigning myself to my passion, I endeavoured to discover, if possible, how far her manners and her conversation agreed with her appearance; and here I found such an assemblage of extraordinary endowments, that it was difficult to say whether she excelled more in person or in mind. Her beauty was, as I have before mentioned, astonishing. She was of a just and proper height. Her complexion extremely fair, but not pale,--blooming but not ruddy. Her countenance was serious, without being severe,--mild and pleasant without levity or vulgarity. Her eyes were lively, without any indication of pride or conceit. Her whole shape was so finely proportioned, that amongst other women she appeared with superior dignity, yet free from the least degree of formality or affectation. In walking, in dancing, or in other exercises which display the person, every motion was elegant and appropriate. Her sentiments were always just and striking, and have furnished materials for some of my sonnets; she always spoke at the proper time, and always to the purpose, so that nothing could be added, nothing taken away. Though her remarks were often keen and pointed, yet they were so tempered as not to give offence. Her understanding was superior to her sex, but without the appearance of arrogance or presumption; and she avoided an error too common among women, who, when they think themselves sensible, become for the most part insupportable.[61] To recount all her excellencies would far exceed my present limits, and I shall therefore conclude with affirming, that there was nothing which could be desired in a beautiful and an accomplished woman, which was not in her most abundantly found. By these qualities I was so captivated, that not a power or faculty of my body or mind remained any longer at liberty, and I could not help considering the lady who had died, as the star of Venus, which at the approach of the sun is totally overpowered and extinguished." The real name of this beautiful and accomplished creature, Lorenzo was too discreet to reveal; but from contemporary authors, we learn that she was Lucretia Donati--a noble lady, distinguished at Florence for her virtue and beauty, and of the same illustrious family which had given a wife to Dante. When Lorenzo undertook to fall in love thus poetically, he was only twenty: the experiment was perilous; and it is not wonderful that this imaginary passion had at first in his ardent and susceptible mind all the effects of a real one: he neglected society--abandoned himself to musing and solitude--affected the rural shades, and gave up his time, and devoted all his powers, to celebrate, in the richest colouring of poetry, her whom he had selected to be the mistress of his heart, or rather the presiding goddess of his fancy.