7
On the ſpot where once we parted,
on the ſpot where firſt we met.
Still I ſing my love born ditty,
ſtill I ſlowly pace the plain;
Whilſt each paſſer-by, in pity,
cries, “God help thee, crazy Jean!”
Death of Crazy Jean.
’Twas at the hour, when night retreating,
bade the ſchreech owl ſeek her neſt;
Gloomy vapours ſlow were fleeting,
morning glimmering in the eaſt.
On the heath, her wild woes telling,
to the winds and beating rain,
Cold, unſhelter’d, far from dwelling,
trembling ſat poor crazy Jean.
‘Ah! ſhe cried, ye ſcenes around me,
witneſſes of Henry’s art!
Witneſſes he faithful found me—
how he broke this faithful heart!
Go, ye wild winds, try to move him!
bid him heal this heart again!—
Did he know how much I lov’d him,
he would pity crazy Jean.
‘Henry comes! I ſee him yonder,
dart like light’ning o’er the heath,—
No, no! no!—my ſenſes wander
ſince he comes not, welcome Death!’
Fainting, on the heath ſhe laid her,
ſoon, in pity to her pain
⟨Death⟩, where Love had firſt betray’d her
gave relief to carzy Jane.
