7
O ever in my waking dreams, [25]
I dwell upon that happy hour,
When midway on the Mount I sate
Beside the ruin'd Tow'r.
8
The moonshine, stealing o'er the scene,
Had blended with the lights of eve, [30]
And she was there, my hope! my joy!
My own dear Genevieve!
9
She lean'd against the armed Man
The statue of the armed Knight—
[[1055]] She stood and listen'd to my harp, [35]
Amid the ling'ring light.
![[1055]](#2122162087445876004_stcvol2_1055.png.id-5917033192046090728.wrap-0.html.html){kind=link}
10
I play'd a sad and doleful air,
I sang an old and moving story,
An old rude song, that fitted well
The ruin wild and hoary. [40]
11
She listen'd with a flitting blush,
With downcast eyes and modest grace:
For well she knew, I could not choose
But gaze upon her face.