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?
XV.
Call'd Dante's,—a plain flat stone, scarce discerned
From others in the pavement,—whereupon
He used to bring his quiet chair out, turned
To Brunelleschi's church, and pour alone
