Then tears of burning shame would rise,
And stern remorse awake within
A host of mental agonies.
He fell--by one dark vice defiled;
Was I more pure--his erring child?
"Yes--erring child; but to my tale.
My mother loved that lost one still,
From the deep fount which could not fail
(Through changes dark, from good to ill,)
Her woman's heart--and sad and pale,