Oft through my native land I roved before,
But never such a cheerful spirit bore.
When on its mother's breast a child I spy--
Hope in my inmost heart doth secret cry,
'Boy, thou art born within a favoring time,
Thine eyes shall glad escape old sights of crime.
Free as a child, thou can'st prove all and be
The forger sole of thine own destiny.
Peasant remain,--as to thy father given--
Or like the eagle swing thyself to heaven!'
Castles in air I build! Man's spirit opes
To many ways to frustrate all my hopes.
Though serfdom's sad conditions left behind,
Yet there be countless snares of varied kind!--
Well! Although the people soon may rend thee,
Let me, oh Freedom, a welcome send thee!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.