156

HEROINES OF THE POETS.

HEROINES OF THE POETS.

COLERIDGE’S GENEVIEVE.

FT in my waking dreams do I
Live o’er again that happy hour,

"When midway on the mount I lay,

Beside the ruined tower.

The moonshine, stealing o’er the scene,

Had blended with the lights of eve;

And she was there, my hope, my joy,
My own dear Genevieve !

——

She leaned against the armed man,

The statue of the armed knight ;

And stood and listened to my lay,
Amid the lingering light.

Few sorrows hath she of her own,

My hope! my joy! my Genevieve!

She loves me best, whene’er I sing
The songs that make her grieve.

I played a soft and doleful air,

I sang an old and moving story —

An old rude song, that suited well
That ruin wild and hoary.