the description, because it is not an exact and prosaic inventory
of the characteristics of the Lake of Como!--When Melnotte,
for instance, talks of birds "that syllable the name of Pauline"
(by the way, a literal translation from an Italian poet), he is not
thinking of ornithology, but probably of the Arabian Nights. He is
venting the extravagant, but natural, enthusiasm of the poet
and the lover.)

Shut out by Alphine hills from the rude world;
Near a clear lake, margin'd by fruits of gold
And whispering myrtles; glassing softest skies,
As cloudless, save with rare and roseate shadows,
As I would have thy fate!

Pauline. My own dear love!

Mel. A palace lifting to eternal summer
Its marble walls, from out a glossy bower
Of coolest foliage musical with birds,
Whose songs should syllable thy name! At noon
We'd sit beneath the arching vines, and wonder
Why Earth could be unhappy, while the Heavens
Still left us youth and love! We'd have no friends
That were not lovers; no ambition, save
To excel them all in love; we'd read no books
That were not tales of love--that we might smile
To think how poorly eloquence of words
Translates the poetry of hearts like ours!
And when night came, amidst the breathless Heavens
We'd guess what star should be our home when love