Here robbeth precious thoughts, and there a true word's power.
He giveth as his own what has been said before,
Transplanted! the whole world into his tedious lore;
And proudly decketh he his prey with borrowed plumes,
Then flauntingly that this is poetry assumes.
How differently lives and sings Mirza-Schaffy!
A glowing star his heart to lighten paths of gloom,
His mind a blooming garden, filled with sweet perfume,
And in his rich creations no plagiarist is he:
His songs are full of beauty, and perfect as can be.