That a maiden lived whom you mightn't know

    By the name of Cannibalee;

    And this maiden she lived with no other thought

    Than a passionate fondness for me.

    I was a child, and she was a child—

    Tho' her tastes were adult Feejee—

    But she loved with a love that was more than love,

    My yearning Cannibalee;

    With a love that could take me roast or fried

    Or raw, as the case might be.

    And that is the reason that long ago,

    In that island near the sea,

    I had to turn the tables and eat

    My ardent Cannibalee—

    Not really because I was fond of her,

    But to check her fondness for me.

    But the stars never rise but I think of the size

    Of my hot-potted Cannibalee,

    And the moon never stares but it brings me nightmares

    Of my spare-rib Cannibalee;

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