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.