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There came and looked him in the face
And how he knew it was a fiend,
And how, unknowing what he did,
And saved, from outrage worse than death,
And how she wept and clasped his knees,
And meekly strove to expiate
And how she nursed him in a cave,
When, on the yellow forest leaves,
His dying words—but when I reached
My faultering voice, and pausing harp,
All impulses of soul and sense
Had thrilled my guileless Genevieve, The music and the doleful tale,
The rich and balmy eve;
And hopes, and fears that kindle hope,
An undistinguishable throng, And gentle wishes long subdued,
Subdued and cherished long:
She wept with pity and delight—
And, like the murmur of a dream,
I saw her bosom heave and swell.
Heave and swell with inward sighs— I could not choose but love to see
Her gentle bosom rise.
Her wet cheek glowed, she slept aside,
As conscious of my look she stept, Then suddenly with timorous eye
She flew to me and wept..
She half inclosed me with her arms—
And bending back her head, looked up,
'Twas partly love and partly fear,
That I might rather feel, than see
I calmed her fears, and she was calm,
And thus I won my Genevieve,
And now once more a tale of woe,
A woeful tale of love I sing, For thee, my Genevieve! it sighs
And trembles on the string.
When last I sung the cruel scorn
That crazed this bold and lovely knight,
And how he roamed the mountain woods, Nor rested day nor night:
I promised thee a sister-tale
Of man's perfidious cruelty;
Befell the dark Ladie.
Bonny Kilmeny gaed up the glen;
But it wasna to meet Duneira's men,
Nor the rosy monk of the isle to see,
For Kilmeny was pure as pure could be.
It was only to hear the Yorlin sing,
And pu' the cress-flower round the spring;
The scarlet hypp and the hindberrye,
And the nut that hang frae the hazel tree;
For Kilmeny was pure as pure could be*
But lang may her minny look o'er the wa',
And lang may she seek i' the green-wood shaw;
Lang the laird of Duneira blame,
And lang, lang greet or Kilmeny come hame!
When many a day had come and' fled, When grief grew calm, and hope was dead,
When mass for Kilmeny's soul had been sung,
When the bedes-man had prayed, and the dead-bell rum
Late, late in a gloamin when all was still,
When the fringe was red on the westlin hill,
The wood was sere, the moon i' the wane,
The reek o' the cot hung over the plain,
Like a little wee cloud in the world its lane;
When the ingle glowed with an eiry leme,
Late, late in the gloamin Kilmeny came hame!
'Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been?
Kilmeny looked up with a lovely grace,