Enraptured away in a beautiful dream;
And the doting old bach’lor rode high on the tide
As he held up Malindy real close to his side—
To furnish the witling whose tongue couldn’t rest,
A subject to turn to an infinite jest.
The witling was jealous, ’twas laughingly said,
And it may have been true, for the fine posing head
Of Malinda was wise and more subtlely schemed
Than the wittiest lover has ever yet dreamed;
She could even walk lame to seem easily caught,