I say, Don Juan, wrapped in contemplation,

Walked on behind his carriage, o'er the summit,

And lost in wonder of so great a nation,

Gave way to 't, since he could not overcome it.

"And here," he cried, "is Freedom's chosen station;

Here peals the People's voice, nor can entomb it

Racks—prisons—inquisitions; Resurrection

Awaits it, each new meeting or election.