That she went down unsoiled by love
Whose reckless and unholy fire
Springs from the heart of low desire.
My sire had framed a cunning tale
—To shroud his crime, and this the baal!
He brought her to our castle’s hall—
Saying she was a homeless child,
Whom he had found beneath the wall
In all her orphan-freedom wild.
Of that she told me, on the day