Changed

I know not why my soul is rack'd:
  Why I ne'er smile as was my wont:
  I only know that, as a fact,
  I don't.
  I used to roam o'er glen and glade
  Buoyant and blithe as other folk:
  And not unfrequently I made
  A joke.
  A minstrel's fire within me burn'd.
 I'd sing, as one whose heart must break,
 Lay upon lay: I nearly learn'd
 To shake.
 All day I sang; of love, of fame,
 Of fights our fathers fought of yore,
 Until the thing almost became
 A bore.
 I cannot sing the old songs now!
 It is not that I deem then low;
  'Tis that I can't remember how
 They go.
 I could not range the hills till high
 Above me stood the summer moon:
 And as to dancing, I could fly
 As soon.
 The sports, to which with boyish glee
 I sprang erewhile, attract no more;
 Although I am but sixty-three
 Or four.
 Nay, worse than that, I've seem'd of late
 To shrink from happy boyhood - boys
 Have grown so noisy, and I hate
 A noise.
 They fright me, when the beech is green,
 By swarming up its stem for eggs:
 They drive their horrid hoops between
 My legs: -
 It's idle to repine, I know;
 I'll tell you what I'll do instead:
 I'll drink my arrowroot, and go
 To bed.