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62

XIV.

Quit we the sad, the sickening theme:
The mortal who descends
To practise thus on confidence
For his own selfish ends,
Merits more deep damnation,
Deserves more hissing scorn,
Than the red murderer for whom
The depths of vengeance yawn.
He kills by foulest treachery,
Uproots the fairest flower,
Who blights a maiden's innocence,
Her best, her richest dower.