Chords are touched by Apollo,—the death-laden bow, too, he bendeth;
⁠While he the shepherdess charms, Python he lays in the dust.

What is merciful censure? to make thy faults appear smaller?
⁠May be to veil them? No, no! O'er them to raise thee on high!

Democratic food soon cloys on the multitude's stomach;
⁠But I'll wager, ere long, other thou'lt give them instead.

What in France has passed by, the Germans continue to practise,
⁠For the proudest of men flatters the people and fawns.

Who is the happiest of men? He who values the merits of others,
⁠And in their pleasure takes joy, even as though 'twere his own.

Not in the morning alone, not only at mid-day he charmeth;
⁠Even at setting, the sun is still the same glorious planet.