The Caucasus

Lift up your peaks! O sun-struck Caucasus! You first beheld the scarred Promethean form On your high cliffs, stretched to the icy storm, The vulture's beak; the multitudinous Woes of the ancient world calamitous Age-long besieged his heart: there, when our swarm Of golden youth with generous hope grew warm, Crag-like hung o'er then great Prometheus.

Lo, from the holy East, where light is born, Tornado-like the globe of glory rears A fiery sunrise with red battle torn! On that hoar world, grown old in blood and tears, The century-waited and millennial morn Bolts the long lightning of a thousand years.