THE LOVE-SICK BOY.

When 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!