| One day four masked men, upon orders received,
|
| Threw themselves upon him and bound him hand and foot,
|
| So that he could only move his legs.
|
| The Whip’s harsh lash slashed at his back,
|
| And they told him to be on his way without delay.
|
| — along the road that leads to Bedlam.
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| He began to smile while scourged and spoke to them with such feelings,
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| Such intelligence concerning so many human sciences he had studied
|
| — displaying vast erudition for one who
|
| had not yet crossed the threshold of youth.
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| And his discourse on Humanity’s Destiny,
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| During which he laid absolutely bare the poetic nobility of his soul,
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| Made his captors — shaken to the core by
|
| what they had done — unbind his battered limbs
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| And fall on their knees begging forgiveness.
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| His excessive Modesty,
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| which dawned on him because of this idea of being but a monster,
|
| Prevents his bestowing his glowing compassion upon any man.
|
| He shelters behind his self-respect,
|
| offended by this blasphemous assumption
|
| Which arises solely from himself and persists in remaining alone
|
| And without solace in the midst of
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| torments. |
| His pride repeats to him this axiom:
|
| «Let each keep to his own kind.» |