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And bid us listen ! and I deem it wise
All thoughts, all passions, all delights,
And feed his sacred flame.
Oft in my waking dreams do I
Beside the ruined tower.
The moonshine stealing o'er the scene
My own dear Genevieve!
That sometimes from the savage den,
In green and sunny glade,
This miserable Knight!
And how, unknowing what he did,
The Lady of the Land;
And how she wept and clasped his knees,
The scorn, that crazed his brain :
And that she nursed him in a cave;
A dying man he lay ;
Disturbed her soul with pity!
All impulses of soul and sense
The rich and balmy eve;
And hopes, and fears that kindle hope