Maid of my Love, sweet Genevieve!

In Beauty's light you glide along: Your eye is like the Star of Eve, And sweet your voice, as Seraph's song Yet not your heavenly beauty gives This heart with Passion soft to glow: Within your soul a voice there lives! It bids you hear the tale of Woe. When sinking low the sufferer wan Beholds no hand outstretch'd to save, Fair, as the bosom of the Swan That rises graceful o'er the wave, I've seen your breast with pity heave, And therefore love I you, sweet Genevieve!

1789-90.