It may be as well to explain here a very small share which I myself took in the _Vita Nuova_ translation. When the volume _The Early Italian Poets_ was in preparation, my brother asked me (January 1861) to aid by “collating my _Vita Nuova_ with the original, and amending inaccuracies.” He defined the work further as follows: “What I want is that you should correct my translation throughout, removing inaccuracies and mannerisms. And, if you have time, it would be a great service to translate the analyses of the poems (which I omitted). This, however, if you think it desirable to include them. I did not at the time (on ground of readableness), but since think they may be desirable: only have become so unfamiliar with the book that I have no distinct opinion.” On January 25th he wrote: “Many and many thanks for a most essential service most thoroughly performed. I have not yet verified the whole of the notes, but I see they are just what I needed, and will save me a vast amount of trouble. I should very much wish that the translation were more literal, but cannot do it all again. _My_ notes, which you have taken the trouble of revising, are, of course, quite paltry and useless.” In order that the reader may judge as to this question of literality, I will give here the literal Englishing of the Sonnet at p. 38, and the paragraph which precedes it (I take the passage quite at random), and the reader can, if he likes, compare this rendering with that which appears in Dante Rossetti’s text:— “After the departure of this gentlewoman it was the pleasure of the Lord of the Angels to call to His glory a lady young and much of noble[1] aspect, who was very graceful in this aforesaid city: whose body I saw lying without the soul amid many ladies, who were weeping very piteously. Then, remembering that erewhile I had seen her keeping company with that most noble one, I could not withhold some tears. Indeed, weeping, I purposed to speak certain words about her death, in guerdon of my having at some whiles seen her with my lady. And somewhat of this I referred to in the last part of the words which I spoke of her, as manifestly appears to him who understands them: and then I composed these two Sonnets—of which the first begins, ‘Weep, lovers’—the second, ‘Villain Death.’ [1] _Gentile._ The word means “noble” rather than (in its modern shade of meaning) “gentle.” “Genteel” would sometimes apply, but has ceased to be admissible in serious writing.