File:Florence in poetry, history and art (1913) (14740437906).jpg

Identifier: florenceinpoetry00ryan (find matches)
Title: Florence in poetry, history and art
Year: 1913 (1910s)
Authors: Ryan, Sara Agnes
Subjects:
Publisher: Chicago, Mayer and Miller Co.
Contributing Library: Robarts - University of Toronto
Digitizing Sponsor: University of Toronto

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d their SantaMaria Novello Church and the Franciscans theirSanta Croce, but all the people of Florence de-sired a Cathedral and commissioned Arnolfo diCambio to raise the loftiest, most sumptuousand most magnificent pile that human inventioncould devise or human labor execute. Santa Maria del Fiore was accordingly begunin 1298, on the site of an old church in honor ofSt. Reparata, and as Arnolfo died in 1300, thework was discontinued for thirty years untilGiotto was appointed master of works of thebuilding. This is the period in which he designed theCampanile—the bell tower of the Cathedral—of which Ruskin says: Of living Christianwork, none is so perfect as the tower ofGiotto; and of which Longfellow writes: In the old Tuscan town stands Giottos tower,The lily of Florence blossoming in stone,—A vision, a delight, and a desire,—The builders perfect and centennial flower,That in the night of ages bloomed alone. Hutton has it thus: Like a slim lily, pale, immaculate as a pure 42
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Cathedral and CampanileShowing part of the Baptistery The Artists and the Churches. virgin, rises the inviolate tower of the lowly,that Giotto built for God. The tower of Giotto, like a thing of Para-dise,, fair and fresh in its perfect grace asthough angels had builded it in the night justpast.—Ouida. And of all I saw and of all I praised,The most to praise and the best to see,Was the startling bell-tower Giotto raised:But why did it more than startle me ? • —Robert Browning. GIOTTOS CAMPANILE. 1 Encased with precious marbles, pure and rare,How gracefully it soars, and seems the whileFrom every polished stage to laugh and smile,Playing with sportive gleams of lucid air!Fit resting place, methinks, its summit wereFor a descended angel! happy isle,Mid lifes rough sea of sorrow, force and guile,For saint of royal race, or vestal fair,In this seclusion,—call it not a prison,—Cloistering a bosom, innocent and lonely.O Tuscan Priestess! gladly would I watchAll night one note of t

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