I'm afraid this thread is going to be boring for most people. But anyway.
Lewis apparently had a thing about mad women.
CRAZY JANE
āStay, fair maid! On every feature,
Why are marks of dread imprest?
Can a wretched, helpless creature
Raise such terrors in your breast?
Do my frantic looks alarm you?
Trust me, sweet, your fears are vain:
Not for kingdoms would I harm you ā
Shun not then poor Crazy Jane.
āDost thou weep to see my anguish?
Mark me, and escape my woe:
When men flatter, sigh, and languish,
Think them false ā I found them so!
For I loved, Oh! so sincerely,
None will ever love again;
Yet the man I prized most dearly
Broke the heart of Crazy Jane.
āGladly that young heart received him,
Which has never loved but one;
He seemed true, and I believed him ā
He was false, and I undone!
Since that hour has reason never
Held her empire oāer my brain.
Henry fled! ā With him, for ever,
Fled the wits of Crazy Jane.
āNow forlorn and broken-hearted,
Still with frenzied thoughts beset,
Near the spot where last we parted,
Near the spot where first we met,
Thus I chant my lovelorn ditty,
While I sadly pace the plain;
And each passer by, in pity,
Cries āGod help thee, Crazy Jane!āā
THE CAPTIVE.
A SCENE IN A PRIVATE MAD-HOUSE.Stay jailor stay and hear my woe!
She is not mad who yields to thee;
For what Iām now, too well I know,
And what I was, and what should be.
Iāll rave no more, in proud despair;
My language shall be mild, thoā sad;
But yet I firmly truely swear
I am not mad; I am not mad.
My tyrant husband forged the tale,
Which chains one in this dismal cell;
My fate unknown, my friends bewail-
O jailor! haste that fate to tell;
O haste my fatherās heart to cheer
This heart at once tāwill grieve and glad
To know tho kept a captive here
I am not mad. I am not mad.
He smiles in scorn, and turns the key;
He quits the grate; I knelt in vain;
His glimmering lamp still, still I see-
āTis gone - and all is gloom again.
Cold bitter cold! no warmth! no light!
Life all thy comforts once I had;
Yet here Iām chained this freezing night
Although not mad; no, no, not mad.
āTis sure some dream some vision vain;
What! I- the child of rank and wealth,-
Am I the wretch who clanks this chain
Bereft of freedom, friends and health
Ah! while I dwell on bleÅæsing1 fled
Which never more any heart must glad,
How aches my heart! how burns my head!
But ātis not mad; no, ātis not mad;
Hast thou my child forgot eāer this,
A motherās face, a motherās tongue?
She neāer forget your parting kiÅæs
Nor round her neck how fast you clung;
Nor how with her you sued to stay;
Nor how that suit your sire forbade;
Nor how- Iāll drive such thoughts away;
Theyāll make me mad, theyāll make me mad.
His rosy lips how sweet they smiled!
His mild blue eyes how bright they shone!
None ever bore a lovelier child;
And art there now forever gone?
And must I never see the more,
My pretty, pretty, pretty lad?
I will be free, unbar the door!
I am not mad; I am not mad,
O, hark! what mean those yells & cries?
His chain some furious madman breaks;
He comes,- I see his glaring eyes,
Now, now my dungeon-grate he shakes
Help! help! - Heās gone! - O, fearful woe!
Such screams to hear, such sights to see!
My brain My brain- I know I know
I am not mad but soon shall be
Yes soon; for lo yon- while I speak-
Mark how yon demonās eyeballs glare!
He sees me now with dreadful shriek,
He whirls a serpent high in air
Horror! the reptile strikes his tooth
Deep in my heart so crushād and sad
Ah, laugh ye fiends;- I feel the truth
Your task is done- Iām mad! Iām mad!
Men are fiends.