Page:Christabel, Kubla Khan, The Pains of Sleep - Coleridge (1816).djvu/57

 And would'st thou wrong thy only child, Her child and thine? Within the Baron's heart and brain If thoughts, like these, had any share, They only swell'd his rage and pain, And did but work confusion there. His heart was cleft with pain and rage, His cheeks they quiver'd, his eyes were wild, Dishonour'd thus in his old age; Dishonour'd by his only child, And all his hospitality To th' insulted daughter of his friend By more than woman's jealousy, Brought thus to a disgraceful end— He roll'd his eye with stern regard Upon the gentle minstrel bard, And said in tones abrupt, austere— Why, Bracy! dost thou loiter here?