CRAZY JANE.

M. G. LEWIS, born 1773, died 1818.

WHY, fair maid, in every feature
Are such signs of fear express'd?
Can a wand'ring wretched creature
With such terror fill thy breast
Do my frenzied looks alarm thee?

Trust me, sweet, thy fears are vain; Not for kingdoms would I harm thee; Shun not, then, poor Crazy Jane.

Dost thou weep to see my anguish ?
Mark me, and avoid my woe:
When men flatter, sigh, and languish,
Think them false-I found them so.

For I loved, ah! so sincerely

None could ever love again;

But the youth I loved so dearly
Stole the wits of Crazy Jane.

Fondly my young heart received him,
Which was doom'd to love but one.
He sigh'd-he vow'd-and I believed him,
He was false-and I undone.

From that hour has reason never
Held her empire o'er my brain.

Henry fled with him for ever
Fled the wits of Crazy Jane.

Now forlorn and broken-hearted,

And with frenzied thoughts beset;
On that spot where last we parted,
On that spot where first we met,

Still I sing my love-lorn ditty,

Still I slowly pace the plain;

While each passer by, in pity,

Cries-God help thee, Crazy Jane !

OH, FOR MY TRUE LOVE.

From "The Myrtle and the Vine," 1800.

Down by the river there grows a green willow,

Sing, oh! for my true-love, my true-love, oh!
I'll weep out the night there, the bank for my pillow,
And all for my true-love, my true-love, oh!

When chill blows the wind, and tempests are beating,
I'll count all the clouds as I mark them retreating,
For true lovers' joys, well-a-day, are as fleeting;

Sing all for my true-love, my true-love, oh!

Maids, come in pity, when I am departed,

Sing, oh! for my true-love, my true-love, oh!
When dead on the bank I am found broken hearted,
And all for my true-love, my true-love, oh!
Make me a grave, all while the wind's blowing,
Close to the stream where my tears once were flowing,
And over my corpse keep the green willow glowing,
'Tis all for my true-love, my true-love, oh!

THE DISTRACTED MAID.

From "The Myrtle and the Vine."

ONE morning very early, one morning in the spring,

I heard a maid in Bedlam who mournfully did sing;

Her chains she rattled on her hands while sweetly thus sung she: "I love my love, because I know my love loves me.

"O cruel were his parents who sent my love to sea!

And cruel cruel was the ship that bore my love from me!

Yet I love his parents since they 're his, altho' they 've ruined me; And I love my love, because I know my love loves me.

"O should it please the pitying powers, to call me to the sky,
I'd claim a guardian angel's charge around my love to fly;
To guard him from all dangers how happy should I be !
For I love my love, because I know my love loves me.

"I'll make a strawy-garland, I'll make it wondrous fine,
With roses, lilies, daisies, I'll mix the eglantine;

And I'll present it to my love when he returns from sea,
For I love my love because I know my love loves me.

"Oh, if I were a little bird to build upon his breast,
Or if I were a nightingale to sing my love to rest!
To gaze upon his lovely eyes all my reward should be;
For I love my love, because I know my love loves me.

"Oh, if I were an eagle to soar into the sky!

I'd gaze around with piercing eyes where I my love might spy;
But, ah! unhappy maiden, that love you ne'er shall see :
Yet I love my love, because I know my love loves me."

THE MAD GIRL'S SONG.

THOMAS DIBDIN.

From "The Last Lays of the Three Dibdins," 1834.

O TAKE me to your arms, love,

For keen the wind doth blow!
O take me to your arms, my love,
For bitter is my woe!

She hears me not, she cares not,
Nor will she list to me;

And here I lie in misery,

Beneath the Willow Tree.

I once had gold and silver;

I thought them without end:

I once had gold and silver;
I thought I had a friend.

My wealth is lost, my friend is false,

My love is stol'n from me;

And here I lie in misery,

Beneath the Willow Tree.

THE MANIAC.

Partly by G. M. LEWIS, Author of "The Monk," and partly by HENRY RUSSELL, Composer of the Music.

HUSH! 'tis the night-watch: he guards my lonely cell;

He comes, he comes this way!

Yes; 'tis the night-watch; I mark his glimmering lamp;

I see its distant ray.

Oh, release me! oh, release me !

No, by Heaven-no, by Heaven, I am not mad!

I loved her sincerely, I loved her too dearly,

I loved her in sorrow, in joy, and in pain ;
But my heart is forsaken, yet ever will awaken,
The mem❜ry of bliss which will ne'er come again.

I see her dancing in the hall, I see her dancing in the hall!
No, by Heaven—no, by Heaven, I am not mad !

Oh, release me, &c.

He quits the grate, he turns the key;
He quits the grate; I knelt in vain ;

His glimmering lamp still, still I see,
And all is gloom again.

Cold, bitter cold; no life, no light;

Life, all thy comforts once I had,

But here I'm chained this freezing night;

No, by Heaven-no, by Heaven, I am not mad!

For lo, you! while I speak,

Oh, release me, &c.

Mark how yon demon's eye-balls glare!
He sees me now; with dreadful shriek

He whirls me in the air!

Horror! the reptile strikes his tooth
Deep in my heart, so crushed and sad.

Aye, laugh, ye fiends-laugh, laugh, ye fiends!
Yes, by Heaven-they 've driven me mad!

I see her dancing in the hall

Oh, release me-oh, release me !

Yes, by Heaven-yes, by Heaven, they've driven me mad!

P

UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE. WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE; from "As You Like it."

UNDER the greenwood tree,

Who loves to lie with me,

And tune his merry note

Unto the sweet bird's throat,

Come hither, come hither, come hither!