Now high, then low, now here, then there,
To balk the aim, or shun the blow
She justly dreaded from her foe.
The Lad, still eager to pursue
The Fly that always kept in view,
Thro’ many a lane and meadow went,
His soul so on the prize was bent,
Undaunted ran from morn to noon,
To gain the heart-enchanting boon.
At length, when sweat bedew’d his face,