Oh, what shall I do? I am wholly upset;
I am sure I’ll be jailed for a lunatic yet.
I’ll be out of a job—it’s the thing to expect
When I’m letting my duty go by with neglect.
You may judge the extent and degree of my
plight
When I’m thinking all day and a-dreaming all
night,
And a-trying my hand at a rhyme on the sly,
All on account of a sparkling eye.

There are those who say men should be strong,
well-a-day!
But what constitutes strength in a man? Who
shall say?
I am strong as the most when it comes to the
arm.
I have aye held my own on the playground or
farm.
And when I’ve been tempted, I have n’t been
weak;
But now—why, I tremble to hear a maid speak.
I used to be bold, but now I’ve grown shy,
And all on account of the sparkling eye.

There once was a time when my heart was
devout,
But now my religion is pen to doubt.
When parson is earnestly preaching of grace,
My fancy is busy with drawing a face,
Thro’ the back of a bonnet most piously plain;
‘I draw it, redraw it, and draw it again.’
While the songs and the sermon unheeded go
by,—
All on account of a sparkling eye.

Oh, dear little conjurer, give o’er your wiles,
It is easy for you, you’re all blushes and
smiles:
But, love of my heart, I am sorely perplexed;
I am smiling one minute and sighing the next;
And if it goes on, I’ll drop hackle and flail,
And go to the parson and tell him my tale.
I warrant he’ll find me a cure for the sigh
That you’re aye bringing forth with the glance
of your eye.

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