Love (feat. Rioux V)

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The Pikey Project

6:43

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All thoughts all passions all delights
Whatever stirs this mortal frame
All are but ministers of love
And feed his sacred flame

Oft in my waking dreams do I
Live over again that happy hour
When midway on the mount I lay
Beside the ruined tower

The moonshine stealing over the scene
Had blended with the lights of eve
And she was there my hope my joy
My own dear Genevieve

She leant against the armed man
The statue of the armed knight
She 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 whenever 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

She listened with a flitting blush
With downcast eyes and modest grace
For well she knew I could not choose
But gaze upon her face

I told her of the knight that wore
Upon his shield a burning brand
And that for ten long years he wooed
The lady of the land

I told her how he pined and ah
The deep the low the pleading tone
With which I sang another's love
Interpreted my own

She listened with a flitting blush
With downcast eyes and modest grace
And she forgave me that I gazed
Too fondly on her face

But when I told the cruel scorn
That crazed that bold and lovely knight
And that he crossed the mountain woods
Nor rested day nor night

That sometimes from the savage den
And sometimes from the darksome shade
And sometimes starting up at once
In green and sunny glade

There came and looked him in the face
An angel beautiful and bright
And that he knew it was a fiend
This miserable knight

And that unknowing what he did
He leaped amid a murderous band
And saved from outrage worse than death
The lady of the land

And how she wept and clasped his knees
And how she tended him in vain
And ever strove to expiate
The scorn that crazed his brain

And that she nursed him in a cave
And how his madness went away
When on the yellow forest leaves
A dying man he lay

His dying words but when I reached
That tenderest strain of all the ditty
My faultering voice and pausing harp
Disturbed her soul with pity

All impulses of soul and sense
Had thrilled my guileless Genevieve
The music and the doleful tale
The rich and balmy eve

And hopes and fears that kindle hope
An undistinguishable throng
And gentle wishes long subdued
Subdued and cherished long

She wept with pity and delight
She blushed with love and virgin shame
And like the murmur of a dream
I heard her breathe my name

Her bosom heaved she stepped aside
As conscious of my look she stepped
Then suddenly with timorous eye
She fled to me and wept

She half enclosed me with her arms
She pressed me with a meek embrace
And bending back her head looked 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 calmed her fears and she was calm
And told her love with virgin pride
And so I won my Genevieve
My bright and beauteous bride

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