Went singly, took their prizes, bowed,
Returning sweetly to their places.
Then "Betsey-Jane!" and all the rout
(Her hidden mother grown romantic)
Beheld that little craft put out
Upon the polished floor's Atlantic.
The Personage bestowed her prize,
And Betsey, lowly as the others,
Bowed o'er her sandals, raised her eyes
Alight with pride—and met her mother's!