XIV

Their hearts out to that Duke, as has been told—

Where guess ye that the living people met,

      Kept tryst, formed ranks, chose leaders, first unrolled

Their banners?

                                          In the Loggia? where is set

      Cellini's godlike Perseus, bronze—or gold—

(How name the metal, when the statue flings

      Its soul so in your eyes?) with brow and sword

Superbly calm, as all opposing things

      Slain with the Gorgon, were no more abhorred

Since ended?

                                          No! the people sought no wings

      From Perseus in the Loggia, nor implored

An inspiration in the place beside,

      From that dim bust of Brutus, jagged and grand,

Where Buonarotti passionately tried

      Out of the clenched marble to demand

The head of Rome's sublimest homicide,

      Then dropt the quivering mallet from his hand,

Despairing he could find no model stuff

      Of Brutus, in all Florence, where he found

The gods and gladiators thick enough?

      Not there! the people chose still holier ground!

The people, who are simple, blind, and rough,

      Know their own angels, after looking round.

What chose they then? where met they?