“But be it so,” said he, half aloud--“I will prepare my heart to rejoice when I learn that she remembers me only as a friend. Next to the bliss of her love is the pride of her esteem.” Such was the sentiment with which his reveries closed--and with every league that bore him further from the south, the sentiment grew strengthened and confirmed. Ernest Maltravers felt there is in the affections themselves so much to purify and exalt, that even an erring love, conceived without a cold design, and (when its nature is fairly understood) wrestled against with a noble spirit, leaves the heart more tolerant and tender, and the mind more settled and enlarged. The philosophy limited to the reason puts into motion the automata of the closet--but to those who have the world for a stage, and who find their hearts are the great actors, experience and wisdom must be wrought from the Philosophy of the Passions. BOOK III. “Not to all men Apollo shows himself-- Who sees him--_he_ is great!” CALLIM. _Ex Hymno in Apollinon_. CHAPTER I. “Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears--soft stillness and the night Become the touches of sweet harmony.” SHAKESPEARE. BOAT SONG ON THE LAKE OF COMO. I. The Beautiful Clime!--the Clime of Love! Thou beautiful Italy! Like a mother’s eyes, the earnest skies Ever have smiles for thee! Not a flower that blows, not a beam that glows, But what is in love with thee! II. The beautiful lake, the Larian lake!* Soft lake like a silver sea, The Huntress Queen, with her nymphs of sheen, Never had bath like thee. See, the Lady of night and her maids of light, Even now are mid-deep in thee! * The ancient name of Como. III. Beautiful child of the lonely hills, Ever blest may thy slumbers be! No mourner should tread by thy dreamy bed, No life bring a care to thee-- Nay, soft to thy bed, let the mourner tread-- And life be a dream like thee! Such, though uttered in the soft Italian tongue, and now imperfectly translated--such were the notes that floated one lovely evening in summer along the lake of Como. The boat, from which came the song, drifted gently down the sparkling waters, towards the mossy banks of a lawn, whence on a little eminence gleamed the white walls of a villa, backed by vineyards. On that lawn stood a young and handsome woman, leaning on the arm of her husband, and listening to the song. But her delight was soon deepened into one of more personal interest, as the boatmen, nearing the banks, changed their measure, and she felt that the minstrelsy was in honour of herself. SERENADE TO THE SONGSTRESS. I. CHORUS.