Bright Eyes. Poem by Samuel Bamford

Bright eyes! ye fatal ones,
Turn ye away;
Have ye not slain enow
Before to-day?
He of the pallid brow,
So much admired;
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!