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And that she nursed him in a Cave;
His dying words—But when I reached
All impulses of Soul and Sense
And Hopes, and Fears that kindle Hope,
She wept with pity and delight,
Her bosom heaved—she stepped aside;
She half inclosed me with her arms,
'Twas partly Love, and partly Fear,
I calmed her fears; and she was calm, And told her love with virgin Pride. And so I won my Genevieve,
My bright and beauteous Bride! The MAD MOTHER.
Her eyes are wild, her head is bare,
The sun has burnt her coal-black hair,
Her eye-brows have a rusty stain,
And she came far from over the main.
She has a baby on her arm,
Or else she were alone;
And underneath the hay-stack warm,
And on the green-wood stone,
She talked and sung the woods among;
And it was in the English tongue.
"Sweet Babe! they say that I am mad,
A fire was once within my brain;