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 them 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.