— Even in these adornments, laughed by friends at,As good as foes, i’ the balance weighed: and vainly —For, called crazed stroller, — as I had been gipsy,Beggar, unhappy, starved to death, — I bore it.And now the Prophet — prophet me undoing,Has led away to these so deadly fortunes!Instead of my sire’s altar, waits the hack-blockShe struck with first warm bloody sacrificing!