Page:Songs of a Savoyard.djvu/140



HEN first my old, old love I knew, My bosom welled with joy; My riches at her feet I threw;
 * I was a love-sick boy!

No terms seemed too extravagant
 * Upon her to employ—

I used to mope, and sigh, and pant,
 * Just like a love-sick boy!

But joy incessant palls the sense;
 * And love, unchanged will cloy,

And she became a bore intense
 * Unto her love—sick boy!

With fitful glimmer burnt my flame,
 * And I grew cold and coy,

At last, one morning, I became
 * Another's love-sick boy!