« AnteriorContinuar »
That sometimes from the savage Den,
And sometimes from the darksome Shade,
And sometimes starting up at once
There came, and look'd him in the face,
An Angel beautiful and bright;
And that he knew, it was a Fiend,
And how, unknowing what he did,
He leapt amid a murd’rous Band,
And sav'd from Outrage worse than Death The Lady of the Land;
And how she wept and clasp'd his knees,
And how she tended him in vain—
And ever strove to expiate
And that she nurs'd him in a Cave;
And how his Madness went away
When on the yellow forest leaves
His dying words—but when I reach'd
That tenderest strain of all the Ditty,
My falt'ring Voice and pausing Harp
All Impulses of Soul and Sense
Had thrill'd my guileless Genevieve,
The Music, and the doleful Tale,
And Hopes, and Fears that kindle Hope,
An undistinguishable Throng !
And gentle Wishes long subdued,
She wept with pity and delight,
I heard her breathe my name.
Her bosom heav'd—she stepp'd aside ; As conscious of my Look, she stepp'd— Then suddenly with timorous eye
She fled to me and wept.
She half inclosed me with her arms,
She press'd me with a meek embrace;
And bending back her head look'd up,
'Twas partly Love, and partly Fear,
And partly 'twas a bashful Art
That I might rather feel than see
I calm’d her fears; and she was calm,
And told her love with virgin Pride.
And so I won my Genevieve,
The MAD MOTHER.
Her eyes are wild, her head is bare,