...and ah ! The deep, the low, the pleading tone With which I sang another's love, Interpreted my own. She listen'd with a flitting blush, With downcast eyes, and modest grace; And she forgave me, that I gazed Too fondly on her face. That sometimes from the savage den. And sometimes...

...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...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...

...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...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...

...my joy, my Geneviève ! She loves me best whene'er I sing The songs that make her grieve. I played a paining ; They stood aloof, the scars remaining. Like cliffs which had been rent asunder: listened with a flitting blush, With downcast eyes and modest grace ; For well she knew I could not...

...my joy, my Geneviève ! She loves me best whene'er I sing The songs that make her grieve. I played a assistance, or to extinguish the desire of fond endearments and te»der officiousnese ; listened with a flitting blush, With downcast eyes and modest grace ; For well she kqew I could not...

...anil ah ! The low, the deep, the pleading tone With which I sang another's love Interpreted my own. She listen'd 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 Which crazed...

...My hope ! my joy ! my Genevieve ! She loves me best whene'er I sing The songs that make her grieve. I play'da soft and doleful air, I sang an old and...ruin wild and hoary. She listen'd with a flitting blnsb, With downcast eyes and modest grace, For well she knew I could not choose But gaze upon her...

...my joy, my Genevieve ! She loves me best whene'er I sing The songs that make her grieve. I playeia soft and doleful air, I sang an old and moving- story...song that suited well That ruin wild and hoary. She listened with a flitting blush, With downcast eyes and modest grace ; For weir she knew I could not...

...! my Geneviève ! She loves me best, whene'er I sing The songs that make her grieve. I play'da son and doleful air, I sang an old and moving story — An old rude song, that soiled well That ruin wild and hoary. She listen'd with a flitting Mush, With downcaet eyes and viodest...

...and—ah ! The deep, the low, the pleading tone With which I sang another's love, Interpreted my own. \ She listen'd with a flitting blush, With downcast eyes and modest grace, And she forgave me, that I gaz'd Too fondly on her face ! But when I told the cruel scorn That crazed...