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POEMS.
25


Gladly that young heart received him,
Which has never loved but one!
He seemed true, and I believed him;
He was false, and I undone.
Since that hour, has reason never
Held her empire in my brain:
Henry fled with him for ever
Fled the wits of Crazy Jane!

Now forlorn, and broken-hearted,
Still with frenzied thoughts beset,
Near that spot where last we parted,
Near that spot where first we met,
Thus I chaunt my love-lorn ditty,
While I sadly pace the plain;
And each passer-by in pity
Sighs—"God help thee, Crazy Jane!"—