Song. (Number 7) - Poem by Ephelia

When Busy Fame, o'er all the Plain

Praises rung,
And on their Oaten Pipes, each Swain
Her Matchless Beauty sung:
The Envious Nymphs were forced to yield,
She had the sweetest Face;
No Emulous(2) Disputes they held,
But for the second Place.
(whose stubborn Heart
No Beauty e'er could move,
But smiled to hear of Bow and Dart,
And braved the God of Love)
Would view this Nymph, and pleased at first
Such Silent Charms to see,
With wonder Gazed, then Sighed, and Cursed
His Curiosity.

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Poem Submitted: Monday, September 27, 2010

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