Sinopsis

Bright eyes! ye fatal ones, Turn ye away; Have ye not slain enow Before to-day? He of the pallid brow, So much ired; He with the gowden hair, Saw and expir'd! He of the gentle mien; One free and bold; Twain in their downy youth, Twain grey and old: Still you another would Take for your prize; Turn away, lady, those Fatal bright eyes! Sweet lips! ye tempting ones, What would you say? Have ye not spoken guile Oft ere to-day? Have ye not whisper'd love, Meaning bright gold? Suffer'd delusive hope, Heart being cold? Set forth your winning smiles But to allure; Wounded, and left the wound Never to cure? Still you another do Seek to decoy; Take, then, your victim,— I'll Kiss you and die!