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 Peacefully in those throngs are mingled diverse speech and color, The beggar does not wind in rags, nor wastes his wealth the idler; Gone are the wretched huts, tidy homes though plain are everywhere; And where a stately palace proudly towers to the skies, not there Is a haughty egoist's abode, opens wide its gates to all; The people's parliament deliberates free their rise and fall; From there the glow of knowledge spreads about a benevolent light, Ennobling the human feelings, there in art soul finds delight.— The clash of chains has wakened me, the beautiful dream is effaced, So sadly interchanged, by the present shame and woe replaced.—

But no! 'Twas not a mere illusion of my o'eryearning dream. I know that the morning star of those better days will yet gleam; That the greater part of that vision’s splendor will be fulfilled, Though from my aged neck to shake the yoke, I shall not be willed. My silvery gray head will bow unto the dust of a slave;