having before him Mr. Longfellow's work as it was discovered in his workshop. Moreover, justice to the poet seems to require that the process of poetical construction should be shown more clearly than in other cases. The final form which any one of his longer works took was not determined until the book had left the printer's hands, for his labor upon it continued up to the last moment. Frequent illustrations of this will have occurred to the reader who has followed Mr. Longfellow's literary career as illustrated in the notes to this edition. It is not possible to say, therefore, what might have been the final form of Michael Angelo had its author chosen to put it into type instead of leaving it in his desk.

For these reasons it has been thought best to print the poem in such a form as to show most clearly to the eye the actual condition in which Mr. Longfellow left it. The poem in what appears to be the ultimate form is printed in the customary type of the edition, but those passages which were from time to time added to the first draft are enclosed in brackets. It should be observed that in consequence of these changes back and forth by the poet, a strict interpretation of the brackets sometimes discloses imperfect lines; it was not possible always to show how these imperfections disappeared in the duplications and erasures of the manuscript. Beneath, in smaller type, are set the passages which were discarded in the final arrangement but which the poet kept with his manuscript, unerased. Those passages and lines, however, which were marked out have

been regarded as absolutely rejected and forming no part of the poem. It may be conjectured that the former class contained alternative passages which the poet might ultimately have restored. In the Appendix are placed those full scenes or large portions of scenes which were either entirely discarded or made finally to have a different presentation.

Mr. Longfellow wrote with his authorities at hand and with evident intention of noting carefully dates and historic sequences. He jotted down these points on the wrappers which enclosed the several scenes; he was in the habit also of placing the date of composition before or after a scene, and occasionally he made other memoranda. A poem to be read suffers from being presented with so much paraphernalia, but the circumstances seem to justify this mode of treatment. By this means can the student be taken into the poet's study, when the poet has left it.

MICHAEL ANGELO: A FRAGMENT

Michel piu che mortal, Angel divino.

ARIOSTO.

Similamente operando all' artista

Ch' a l'abito dell' arte e man che trema.

DANTE, Par. xiii. st. 77.

DEDICATION.

NOTHING that is shall perish utterly,
But perish only to revive again

In other forms, as clouds restore in rain
The exhalations of the land and sea.
Men build their houses from the masonry
Of ruined tombs; the passion and the pain
Of hearts, that long have ceased to beat, remain
To throb in hearts that are, or are to be.
So from old chronicles, where sleep in dust
Names that once filled the world with trumpet
tones,

I build this verse; and flowers of song have thrust

Their roots among the loose disjointed stones,
Which to this end I fashion as I must.

Quickened are they that touch the Prophet's bones.

November 8, 1872.]

PART FIRST.

I.

PROLOGUE AT ISCHIA.

The Castle Terrace. VITTORIA COLONNA and JULIA GON

ZAGA.
VITTORIA.

WILL you then leave me, Julia, and so soon,

Needs not your presence. No one waits for you.

Stay one day longer with me.

They who go

Feel not the pain of parting; it is they

Who stay behind that suffer. I was thinking
But yesterday how like and how unlike

Have been, and are, our destinies. Your husband,

1 Why return

To that forlorn and solitary place,

Of old the haunt of migratory ships,

Now unfrequented, like the breeding ground

Of sea-fowls that are flown, and given over

To fever and malaria ?

The good Vespasian, an old man, who seemed
A father to you rather than a husband,
Died in your arms; but mine, in all the flower
And promise of his youth, was taken from me
As by a rushing wind. The breath of battle
Breathed on him, and I saw his face no more,
Save as in dreams it haunts me. As our love
Was for these men, so is our sorrow for them.
Yours a child's sorrow, smiling through its tears;
But mine the grief of an impassioned woman,
Who drank her life up in one draught of love.

JULIA.

Behold this locket. This is the white hair
Of my Vespasian. This the flower-of-love,
This amaranth, and beneath it the device,
Non moritura. Thus my heart remains
True to his memory; and the ancient castle,
Where we have lived together, where he died,
Is dear to me as Ischia is to you.

VITTORIA.

I did not mean to chide you.

JULIA.

Let your heart

Find, if it can, some poor apology

For one who is too young, and feels too keenly
The joy of life, to give up all her days
To sorrow for the dead. While I am true
To the remembrance of the man I loved
And mourn for still, I do not make a show
Of all the grief I feel, nor live secluded
[And, like Veronica da Gámbara,

Drape my whole house in mourning, and drive forth