Go riding off like witches;
I lost, ah! bitterly I wept,—
I lost my Sunday breeches!
I saw them straddling through the air,
Alas! too late to win them;
I saw them chase the clouds as if
The devil had been in them;
They were my darlings and my pride,
My boyhood’s only riches,—
“Farewell, farewell,” I faintly cried,—