y.

PAULINE. You say this to please me, who have no ancestors; but you,
prince, must be proud of so illustrious a race!

MEL. No, no! I would not, were I fifty times a prince, be a pensioner on
the dead! I honor birth and ancestry when they are regarded as the
incentives to exertion, not the title-deeds to sloth! I honor the
laurels that overshadow the graves of our fathers--it is our fathers I
emulate, when I desire that beneath the evergreen I myself have planted
my own ashes may repose! Dearest! couldst thou but see with my eyes!

PAULINE. I cannot forego pride when I look on thee, and think that thou
lovest me. Sweet Prince, tell me again of thy palace by the lake of
Como; it is so pleasant to hear of thy splendors since thou didst swear
to me that they would be desolate without Pauline; and when thou
describest them, it is with a mocking lip and a noble scorn, as if
custom had made thee disdain greatness.

MEL. Nay, dearest, nay, if thou wouldst have me paint
The home to which, could love fulfill its prayers,
This hand would lead thee, listen! A deep vale
Shut out by Alpine 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
Becomes immortal; while the perfumed light
Stole through the mist of alabaster lamps,
And every air was heavy with the sighs
Of orange groves and music from sweet lutes,
And murmurs of low fountains that gush f