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The maid, devoid of guile and sin,
I know not how, in fearful wise
So deeply had she drunken in
That look, those shrunken serpent eyes,
That all her features were resign'd
To this sole image in her mind:
And passively did imitate
That look of dull and treacherous hate.
And thus she stood, in dizzy trance,
Still picturing that look askance,
With forc'd unconscious sympathy
Full before her father's view
As far as such a look could be,
But when the trance was o'er, the maid
"That thou this woman send away!"
Why is thy cheek so wan and wild,
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?
I bade thee hence! The bard obey'd;
PART THE SECOND.
A little child, a limber elf,