My fancy with her fury was engrossed
Who took the shape of that sweet bird[[109]] well known
To be of his own song enamored most;
And here my mind was in itself so chained
That it received no object from outside.
Then into my high fantasy there rained
The image of a person crucified,[[110]]
Fierce in his aspect, with a face of hate,—
And in this look despitefully he died.
Round him there stood Ahasuerus great,