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And that she nursed him in a Cave;
A dying Man he lay;
His dying words_But when I reached That tenderest strain of all the Ditty, My falt'ring Voice and pausing Harp
Disturbed her Soul with Pity!
All impulses of Soul and Sense
The rich and balmy Eve;
And Hopes, and Fears that kindle Hope,
Subdued and cherished long !
She wept with pity and delight,
I heard her breathe my name.
Her bosom heaved—she stepped aside ; As conscious of my Look, she steppedThen suddenly with timorous eye
She fled to me and wept.
She half inclosed me with her arms,
She pressed me with a meek embrace;
And gazed upon my face. .
'Twas partly Love, and partly Fear,
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,
My bright and beauteous Bride!
The MAD MOTHER.
Her eyes are wild, her head is bare,
She has a baby on her arm,
the woods among; And it was in the English tongue.
“ Sweet Babe! they say that I am mad,
thee have no fear of me,
A fire was once within my brain ;