I.

O fairy island of a fairy sea, Wherein Calypso might have spell'd the Greek, Or Flora piled her fragrant treasury, Cull'd from each shore her Zephyr's wings could seek.-- From rocks, where aloes blow.

Tier upon tier, Hesperian fruits arise; The hanging bowers of this soft Babylon; An India mellows in the Lombard skies, And changelings, stolen from the Lybian sun, Smile to yon Alps of snow.