Temptress, The

A woman lift the wine-cup!
     A woman fill the bowl!
A maiden tempt her lover's doom
     To the ruin of his soul
A sister quaff the deadly pledge
     A brother's heart to cheer, 
Just pausing for his farewell kiss 
     On the verge of a proud career!

A young bride pour the fatal glass 
     To the bridegroom at her side!
And a mother to her baby give
     One drop from the burning tide
That withers whatever it touches, 
     And clings with an inner fire;
That leaves the body a smouldering corse—
     A dead soul's funeral pyre!

Ha, woman! see that wretched man, 
     The curse of thy withered life;
And see thyself, in a thousand dens, 
     The drunkard's woeful wife! -
Is he kind? how yet more loathsome
     The touch of his foul caress!
Is he cruel? into thy grave and hide!
     The worm will waste thee less!
 
Oh I wail, deluded sister!
     From the steeps of his proud career
Thy brother staggers, down and down, 
     And falls on a drunkard's bier!
The deadly virus that slew him
     He took from thy tempting lips, 
And the blindness of a pure young love 
     Was a sun-soul's black eclipse!

Where now is the blithe young lover?
     He comes a reeling sot,
And the shame of his maudlin glances 
     On the cheek of the maid burns hot!
The bridegroom comes to his chamber,
     To the wife all pale with dread, 
And the reek of his drunken vomit 
     Is on the nuptial bed!

The babe from its sugared venom
     Is swollen, purpled and foul,
To the fungous mockery of a man—
     A thing without a soul!
O woman! by all that curses 
     And darkens thy evil lot,
Withhold thy hand from the burning cup;
     Take never! and give it not!!