My lovely maid,
My fancy's lowered sadly;
For while 'mid bliss
So sweet as this
My soul's to rapture given,
Alas! my mind
Is more inclined
To earth than 'tis to heaven.
"Indeed, Mr. Wiggins, you must not warble that song under the young lady's window," said the Professor.
"I do not intend to do so," said Wiggins.