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And meekly strove to expiate
The scorn that crazed his brain :
And how she nursed him in a cave,
And how his madness went away, When, on the yellow forest leaves,
A dying man he lay :
His dying words—but when I reached
That tenderest strain of all the ditty, My faltering voice, and pausing harp,
Disturbed her soul with pity.
All impulses of soul and sense
Had thrill'd 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
She blushed with love and maiden shame, And like the murmur of a dream,
I heard her breathe my name.
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 stept aside,
As conscious of my look she stept,
Then suddenly with timorous eye
She flew to me and wept.
She half-enclosed me with her arms
She pressed me with a meek embrace, And, bending back her head, looked up,
And gazed upon my face.
'Twas partly love and partly fear,
And partly 'twas a bashful art, That I might rather feel than see
The swelling of her heart !
I calmed her fears, and she was calm,
And told her love with virgin pride ; And thus I won my Genevieve,
My bright and beauteous bride!
And now once more a tale of wo,
A woful tale of love I sing,
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.
ADDRESS TO A WILD DEER.
MAGNIFICENT Creature ! so stately and bright!
head; Or borne like a whirlwind down on the vale ?-Hail! King of the wild and the beautiful !
hail ! Hail ! Idol divine ! whom Nature hath borne O’er a hundred hill-tops since the mists of the
morn, Whom the pilgrim lone wandering on mountain
and moor, As the vision glides by him, may blameless adore ; For the joy of the happy, the strength of the free, Are spread in a garment of glory o'er thee.
Up! up to yon cliff! like a king to his throne !
Though your branches now toss in the storm of
delight, Like the arms of the pine on your shelterless
height. One moment—thou bright Apparition !-delay ! Then melt o'er the crags, like the sun from the day.
Aloft on the weather-gleam, scorning the earth,
well, While his horns in a crescent of radiance shone, Like a flag burning bright when the vessel is gone.
The ship of the desert hath pass’d on the wind,
What lonely magnificence stretches around !
Here the glory of nature hath nothing to fear Ay! Time the destroyer in power hath been And the forest that hung on yon mountain so
high, Like a black thunder-cloud on the arch of the sky, Hath gone, like that cloud, when the tempest
came by. Deep sunk in the black moor, all worn and de
cayd, Where the floods have been raging the limbs are
display'd Of the Pine-tree and Oak sleeping vast in the
gloom, The kings of the forest disturb'd in their tomb.
E’en now, in the pomp of their prime, I behold
morn. -Down the pass of Glen-Etive the tempest is
borne, And the hill-side is swinging, and roars with a
sound In the heart of the forest embosom'd profound. Till all in a moment the tumult is o'er, And the mountain of thunder is still as the shore When the sea is at ebb; not a leaf nor a breath To disturb the wild solitude, steadfast as death.