I'll be at your ball--dear Eliza,
Could you doubt of my wish to be there,
When ask'd by the maiden I prize a-
Bove all maidens, though e'er so fair?
Busy fancy brings back in my dreams
The walks, still enchanting, we took,
When the zephyrs scarce ruffled the streams,
No sound heard, save the murm'ring brook;
The stars we together have watched--
What pleasure these thoughts do recall!
Believe that your truly attached,
Dear Eliza, will be at your ball.

Can study those feelings estrange,
Of affection so ardent and true?
Or absence or time ever change
A heart so devoted to you?
My voice may have altered its tone,
My brow may be furrow'd by care,
But, oh, dearest girl, there are none
Possess of my heart the least share.
You say that my hair is neglected,
That my dress don't become me at all;
Can you feel surprised I'm dejected,
Since I parted from you at your ball?

I listlessly turn o'er the pages.
So fraught with amusement before
Tasso, Dante, and even the sages,
Once pleasing, are pleasing no more.