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She wept with pity and delight,
She blush'd with love, and virgin-shame;
And like the murmur of a dream,
I heard her breathe my name.
Her bosom heav'd—she stept aside,
As conscious of my look she stept—
Then suddenly, with timorous eye
She fled to me and wept.
She half enclosed me with her arms,
She press'd me with a meek embrace;
And bending back her head, look'd 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 calm'd her fears, and she was calm,
And told her love with virgin-pride.
And so I won my Genevieve,
My bright and beauteous Bride.
