21
And how she nurs'd him in a cave;
And how his madness went away,
When on the yellow forest leaves
A dying man he lay;
22
His dying words—but when I reach'd [85]
That tenderest strain of all the ditty,
My fault'ring voice and pausing harp
Disturb'd her soul with pity.
23
All impulses of soul and sense
Had thrill'd my guiltless Genevieve— [90]
The music and the doleful tale,
The rich and balmy eve;
24
And hopes and fears that kindle hope,
An undistinguishable throng;
And gentle wishes long subdu'd, [95]
Subdu'd and cherish'd long.
25
She wept with pity and delight—
She blush'd with love and maiden shame,
And like the murmurs of a dream,
I heard her breathe my name. [100]