A Mænad-masked betrayer, base, impure,
But with sin's glittering garb, and radiant air,
Gay laugh, and golden lure.
It smiled, it beckoned—whither? To the abyss!
But of that throng how many may be drawn
By the gay glamour and the siren kiss
To where sin's soul-gulfs yawn?
How many? No response my vision gave.
Make answer, if ye may, ye lords of gain!
Make answer, if ye know, ye chiders grave