Sometimes to a passer's sight,

He, the black offender, waited,

From them parted since his fall:

Once beloved, now scorned and hated

By himself, he thought by all!

Nothing asking, nothing pleading,

Speechless, tearless, in despair;

But, like one in pain exceeding,

Moving ever here and there.

Little did his fate alarm him:

What had he to fear or shun?

What could others do to harm him

More than he himself had done?

But without were minds divided,

And the morning wore away;

Noon had come, and undecided

Still the heavy question lay.

Though they looked so stern and fearless,

Some with sinking hearts had come,—

Hearts that wept when eyes were tearless,

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