This deathless spirit wounded now in struggling to be free,
Shall in its conscious strength arise and claim its destiny!
“Not that the sovereign, who pursues a rebel with his frown,
May see my coronet all green, when fades his ducal crown;
Not that the sire, whose wrath condemned his reckless son to shame,
May hail that son brought back in the triumphal car of Fame—
“But that I feel the living soul of Poesy within,
Urging the liberated thought its mission to begin;
A work eternal bids me on—I cannot, will not die,
Till the vast deep of human mind shall onto deep reply!”