Изображения страниц
PDF
EPUB

I 'prentice was to Vulcan,
And served my master faithful
In making tools for jovial fools;
But, ye gods, ye proved unfaithful.

The stars pluck'd from their orbs too,
I'll put them in my budget;
And if I'm not a roaring boy,
Then let the nation judge it.

CRAZY JANE.

G. M. 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!

The music was composed by Miss Abrams, a popular English vocalist, who, with her sister Theodosia, first sang in public in 1776 at the Ancient Concerts.

THE DISTRACTED MAID.

From "Johnson's Musical Museum." Said by the editor of " Johnson's Museum" to have been written by a negro confined in Bethlehem Hospital.

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,
Although they've ruin'd me;

And I love my love, because I know
My love loves me.

Oh, 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.

[blocks in formation]

Sheridan used the same melody for the air, "Had I a heart for falsehood framed," and Moore also for the air, "The harp that once in Tara's halls."

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 growing, 'Tis all for my true-love, my true-love, oh!

THE MAD GIRL'S SONG.

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

Он, take me to your arms, my love,
For keen the winds doth blow!
Oh, 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.

[graphic][merged small]

UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE. WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE; from "As you like it." The music by Dr. ARNE.

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!

Here shall he see

No enemy

But winter and rough weather.

Who doth ambition shun,

And loves to lie i' the sun,

Seeking the food he eats,

And pleased with what he gets,

Come hither, come hither, come hither!

Here shall he see

No enemy

But winter and rough weather.

« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »