In the meshes of love’s silken snare,
When the strong man awakes from his slumber, to find
His enchantments all vanish in air!
Ah no! he may mourn that his slumber is o’er,
He may weep that the dream was but vain,
But he starts up, resolved he will yield him no more
To that vision deceitful again.
There are monarch’s despotic, throned tyrants, by Fate,
And serfs there are millions, by birth;
But the slave of the cold and the heartless coquette