Beacoup D’Amour. Despite what wisdom’s voice may say, I fain would gather heaps of ore, And at my true-love’s feet would lay, With pleased haste, the golden store. Then daily would I satisfy Each lightest wish, Adêle, of thine : No jot of avarice have I, But boundless is this love of mine. To make immortal my Adêle, Were I with powers of song inspired, My verse, which still on her should dwell, Would be from age to age admired. Thus may the future’s memory Our graven names one day entwine : I have no wish for fame—not I, But boundless is this love of mine. If Providence should deign to place My steps upon a kingly throne, Adêle that splendid dream should grace, And all my rights be hers alone. To please her more, I willingly Would see a court around me shine : Ambition !—none of it have I, But boundless is this love of mine. But why these vexing vain desires, Since every wish Adêle doth crown ! More happiness true love inspires, Than grandeur, riches, or renown, Then, let me on that bliss rely, Which fate can never make me tyne ; Nor wealth, nor fame, nor rank have I, But boundless, boundless love is mine !