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!