Adam Mickiewicz

“ My Cicerone! Childish is thy face,
But ancient wisdom o’er thy forehead shines,
Through Roman gates I followed thee apace,
Thou wast my guarding angel in the shrines.
Oh, Thou canst even look through a heart of stone,
When thou but glancest at its stubborn shell,
From a single word the past to thee is known,
Perhaps thou know’st the pilgrim’s fate to tell.
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