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WILLIE AND PHEBE. 



BY THE AUTHOR OF SUNDAY, "A POEM.' 



Sweet Phebe is sixteen, and charming 



As the smiling rich season of spring ; 

 Her seraphic graces surpass all 



The dreams which high fancy can bring ; 

 And her bright eyes so shining and jetty. 



Beam like heaven's di'monds above ; 

 And the look, all in blushes so pretty. 



When teaz'd, and when tempted with love. 



Each lad of the village, low bending, 



Told his tale of distress with a sigh ; 

 And they said that'with love they were dying, 



Then Phebe look'd thoughtful and shy. 

 And her bright eyes so shining and jetty, 



Beam'd like heaven's diamonds above. 

 And so gentle she look'd, and so pretty — 



When teaz'd and when tempted with love. 



Some knelt on the earth low before her. 



And strains of soft simpers did chime. 

 Others thought they could win the fair maiden 



By singing their whimsies in rhyme ; 

 While her bright eyes so shiny and jetty, 



Beam'd like heaven's di'monds above. 

 And she looked so divine, and so pretty — 



Like an angel of light and of love. 



A rich one, too, sighed for the maiden, 



And spoke of his acres of land ; 

 Moving strains from his school-books he whimper'd, 



And offer'd in state his soft hand : 

 While her bright eyes so shining and jetty, 



Beam'd like heaven's di'monds above. 

 And she turn'd them, so chaste and so pretty, 



Away from his acres and love. 



