And that unknowing what he did,

He leaped amid a murderous band,
And saved from outrage worse than death
The Lady of the Land!

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.

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
That tenderest strain of all the ditty,
My faultering voice and pausing harp
Disturbed her soul with pity!

All impulses of soul and sense
Had thrilled 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 virgin-shame;
And like the murmur of a dream,
I heard her breathe my name.

Her bosom heaved-she stepped aside,
As conscious of my look she stepped-
Then suddenly, with timorous eye

She fled 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 so I won my Genevieve,

My bright and beauteous Bride.

LEWTI, OR THE CIRCASSIAN
LOVE-CHAUNT.

Ar midnight by the stream I roved,
To forget the form I loved.

Image of Lewti! from my mind
Depart; for Lewti is not kind.

The Moon was high, the moonlight gleam
And the shadow of a star

Heaved upon Tamaha's stream;
But the rock shone brighter far,
The rock half sheltered from my view
By pendent boughs of tressy yew—
So shines my Lewti's forehead fair,
Gleaming through her sable hair.
Image of Lewti! from my mind
Depart for Lewti is not kind.

I saw a cloud of palest hue,

Onward to the Moon it passed; Still brighter and more bright it grew, With floating colours not a few,

Till it reached the Moon at last: Then the cloud was wholly bright, With a rich and amber light!

And so with many a hope I seek

And with such joy I find my Lewti; And even so my pale wan cheek

Drinks in as deep a flush of beauty! Nay, treacherous image! leave my mind, If Lewti never will be kind.

The little cloud-it floats away,
Away it goes; away so soon?

Alas! it has no power to stay:
Its hues are dim, it hues are grey—
Away it
passes from the Moon!
How mournfully it seems to fly,

Ever fading more and more,
To joyless regions of the sky-
And now 'tis whiter than before!
As white as my poor cheek will be,

When, Lewti! on my couch I lie,

A dying man for love of thee.