The mighty mountain flings its mist-veil down; With little flowers the gracious fields are bright, And from the forest colors flash to sight Like gems that drop from off a Calif's crown....
The drooping, weary day night pushed aside; On Tschatir Dagh the sullen sun and low Paints phantom purple upon ancient snow; While forest ways within, the wanderers hide....
In ruin are the spacious, splendid halls With frozen forest of white columns where The Tartar Khan his palace builded fair, Where loneliest the shrilling cricket calls. The ivy blackens over shining walls...
From out the mosques the pious wend their way; Muezzin voices tremble through the night; Within the sky the pallid King of Light Wraps silvered ermine round him while he may,...
Give wings unto the storm, and spurs to steed, I'd move unchained as wind across the world, Sweep onward like a torrent mountain-hurled, Nor sea, nor height, nor valley pause to heed....
The flag is listless, limp. It dances not. As deep the sea breathes from a gentle breast As any bride who dreams at love's behest, And wakes and sighs, then casts with dreams her lot....
Oh, thankless Crimean land! in ruin laid Are now the castles that were once your pride! Here serpents and the owls from daylight hide, And robbers arm them for the nightly raid....