I saw you gifted, striding proud through fields of dream;Delirious lands! Rejoice, each gifted soul supreme!
He brings exalted virtues, amply stored,With glory, steadfast in truth's honest word.
You'll find in illusion's market most men sold—Their minds enslaved, unjust, corrupted, cold.
Yet when the nightingale, by rapture stirred,Pours forth its song with charm and polished art—
Where is the one among us who compares—In pure affection trained, who doubly dares?
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