erected to his memory. Too late the Florentines begged for his remains,
and did justice to the man and the poet; as well they might, since his
is the proudest name connected with their annals. He is indeed one of
the great benefactors of the world itself, for the richness of his
immortal legacy.

Could the proscribed and exiled poet, as he wandered, isolated and
alone, over the vine-clad hills of Italy, and as he stopped here and
there at some friendly monastery, wearied and hungry, have cast his
prophetic eye down the vistas of the ages; could he have seen what
honors would be bestowed upon his name, and how his poem, written in
sorrow, would be scattered in joy among all nations, giving a new
direction to human thought, shining as a fixed star in the realms of
genius, and kindling into shining brightness what is only a reflection
of its rays; yea, how it would be committed to memory in the rising
universities, and be commented on by the most learned expositors in all
the schools of Europe, lauded to the skies by his countrymen, received
by the whole world as a unique, original, unapproachable production,
suggesting grand thoughts to Milton, reappearing even in the creations
of Michael Angelo, coloring art itself whenever art seeks the sublime
and beautiful, inspiring all subsequent literature, dignifying the life
of letters, and gilding philosophy as well as poetry with new
glories,--could he have seen all this, how his exultant soul would have
rejoiced, even as did Abraham, when, amid the ashes of the funeral pyre
he had prepared for Isaac, he saw the future glories of his descendants;
or as Bacon, when, amid calumnies, he foresaw that his name and memory
would be held in honor by posterity, and that his method would be
received by all future philosophers as one of the priceless boons of
genius to mankind!