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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.
