And how she wept, and clasped his knees, And how she tended him in vain; And ever strove to expiate The scorn that crazed his brain;-- 60 And that 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 65 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 thrilled my guileless Genevieve; 70 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, 75 Subdued and cherished long! She wept with pity and delight, She blushed with love and virgin shame; And like the murmur of a dream, I heard her breathe my name. 80 Her bosom heaved--she stepped aside, As conscious of my look she stept-- Then suddenly, with timorous eye, She fled to me and wept She half enclosed me with her arms, 85 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, 90 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 so I won my Genevieve, 95 My bright and beauteous Bride. _Samuel Taylor Coleridge._ CLXXXVI _SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY._ She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that’s best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellowed to that tender light 5 Which heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impaired the nameless grace, Which waves in every raven tress, Or softly lightens o’er her face; 10 Where thoughts serenely sweet express, How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. And on that cheek, and o’er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, 15 But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent! _Lord Byron._ CLXXXVII _SONG._