A poem by Matthew Gregory "Monk" Lewis. As with much of his work, it fed the public appetite for Gothic frissons, and was set by a dozen or so composers. It also spawned sequels and imitations, e.g. The death of Crazy Jane and the Ghost of Crazy Jane.
1 Why, fair maid, in ev'ry 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.
2 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, oh so sincerely,
None could ever love again,
But the youth I loved so dearly
Stole the wits of Crazy Jane.
3 Fondly my young heart receiv'd him,
Which was doom'd to love but one;
He sigh'd, he vow'd, and I believ'd 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.
4 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 lovelorn ditty,
Still I slowly pace the plain,
Whilst each passer-by in pity
Cries "God help thee, Crazy Jane".
English text