What is the doom for his dastard sin?
His peers, they scorn?—high dames, they shun him?
—Unbar your palace, and gaze within!
"There,—yet his deeds are all trumpet-sounded,
There upon silken seats recline
Maidens as fair as the summer morning,
Watching him rise from the sparkling wine.
Mothers all proffer their stainless daughters;
Men of high honor salute him 'friend;'
Skies! oh where are your cleansing waters!