Can a wand'ring wretched creature,

With such terrors fill thy breast? Do my frenzy 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 lov'd,---oh! so sincerely,

None could ever love again; But the youth I lov'd so dearly,

Stole the wits of Crazy Jane. 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. Now, forlorn and broken-hearted,

And with frenzy'd looks 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 !”

BRIGHT CHANTICLEER. BRIGHT chanticleer proclaims the dawn, And spangles deck the thorn,

The lowing herds now quit the lawn,

The lark springs from the corn;
Dogs, huntsmen round the window throng,

Fleet Towler leads the cry,
Arise the burden of my song,

This day a stag must die.
With a hey, ho, chevy,
Hark forward, hark forward, tantivy,
Hark, hark, tantivy,
This day a stag must die.
The cordial takes its merry round,

The laugh and joke prevail,
The huntsman blows a jovial sound,

The dogs snuff up the gale;
The upland winds they sweep along,

O’er fields, thro’ brakes they fly,
The game is rous'd too true the song,
This day a stag must die.

With a hey, ho, &p. Poor stag, the dogs thy haunches gore,

The tears run down thy face,
The huntsman's pleasure is no more,

His joys were in the chace;
Alike the generous sportsman burns,

To win the blooming fair,
But yet he honours each by turns,
They each become his care.

With a hey, ho, &c.

**********

BRITANNIA AT NELSON'S TOMB. PALE and languid sat Britannia,

Reclining o'er her Nelson's urn, In vest of mourning, still indulging

Tears that swald, and sighs that burn! For he, in whom her heart delighted,

Whose name was terror (o the foen.

Tho', like the sun, he set in glory,

Wak'd her inmost soul to woe. Alas! bereav'd of such a treasure,

Deep she felt the sense of pain;
Future blessings nothing mov'd ber---

Consolation was in vain.
In softest whispers Hope presented

Other Nelsons to her view,
With laurel'd trophies, splendid honors,

Bright as fancy ever drew.
Still undiminish'd was her sorrow,

No words reliev'd her ardent pain :
Till, after hours of speechless anguish,
Thus she mourn'd her hero slain.----

AIR
Hero of Ocean's tide,

Is then thy spirit Aed ?
Rests then Britannia's pride

Among th' illustrious dead!
For thee she heaves the sigh,

For thee she drops the tear;
But while the god of day

Illumes the rolling year,
Till time be pass'd away,
'Thy name shall never die

- May yield to the blacksmith to teach, For he labours still more at the bar.

Sing fal de la, &c. When great men do wrong in the state,

The Commons try hard at their poles;
While the blacksmith, as certain as fate,
· Could have'em haul'd over the coals.
And it rogues put their name to a draft,

The law for their hanging will teaze;
But blacksmiths are free from all craft,
And may forge just as much as they please.

Fal de la, &c. The vices of trade he holds cheap,

And laughs at the world as it rails, For, spite of the pother they keep,

They can't make a smith eat his nails! And if, to his praise be it spoke,

To raise him still higher and higher, You may say, and without any joke, All he gets, is got out of the fire.

Fal de la, &c. Then let blacksmiths be toasted around,

For well it may always be said,
When a fortune by blacksmiths is found,

They must hit the right nail o the head.
No irony now I'm about,

To his metal you'll find him still true ;
Since I've hammer'd his history out,
I hope 'twill be temper'd by you.

Sing fal de la, &c.

**********

BLACK EYE’D SUSAN. ALL in the Downs the fleet was moor’d,

The streamers waving in the wind, When black-eye'Susan came on board,

Oh! where shall I my true love findidit

Tell me, ve jovial sailors, tell me true,
Dues iny sweet William sail among your crew ?
William, who high upon the yard,

Rock'd with the billows to and fro;
Soon as her well-known voice he heard,

He sigh'd, and cast his eyes below. The cord slides swiftly thirough his glowing hand And, quick as lightning, on the deck he stands. So the sweet lark, high pois'd in air,

Shuts close his pinions to his breast,
(if, chance, his mate's shrill note he hear)

And drops at once into her nest.
The noblest captain in the British fleet
Might envy William's lips those kisses sweet.
0, Susan! Susan! lovely dear!

My vows shall ever true remain!'
Let me kiss off that falling tear,

We only meet to part again.
Change, as ye list, ye winds, my heart shall be
The faithful compass that still points to thce.
Believe not what the landmen say,

Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind;
They'll tell thee, sailors, when away,

In ev'ry port a mistress find---
Yes, yes, believe them, when they tell thee so,
For thou art present wheresoe'er I go.
If to far India's coast we sail,

Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright:
Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale;

Thy skin is ivory so white :
Thus, ev'ry beauteous object that I view,
Wakes in my soul some charms of lovely Sue,
Tho' battles call me from thy arms,

Let not my pretty Susan moarn;
Tho' cannons roar, yet safe from harms
William shall to his dear return;