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The Maniac

Yes, calm was her eye, but its lustre had fled,
	For the tear of despondence was there;
Yes, gone are the riglets that circled her head,
  And faded the blush that her features o’erspread –
	Oh deep was the gloom of despair.

Yet still was she lovely as graceful, she passed,
	Nor heeded the pityless storm:
Far, far from her home she was wandering fast,
And tattered the robe that around her was cast:
	To conceal her still delicate form.

Long, long from the home of her youth had she stray[ed?]
	Where years of enjoyment had past,
But dark is the house where her Father is laid,
And her Mother lies low ‘neath the cypress tree’s shade
	Borne down by adversity’s blast.

The friend of her youth soothed her sorrows a-while
	And she thought that her joys would return,
O! sweet was the hour when he came with a smile
The long lingering moments of time to beguile,
	Or o’er her loved parents to mourn.

But gone are the joys, she expected to share,
	And gone is the peace of past years,