Songs of the Slav
XXIII
I stand at dusk upon a cliff, 'gainst which mid rumble of rain
And smoke is dashed in roaring spray the water's vast hurricane.
Just as a bird that seeks in vain for rest the isle's seclusion,
My gaze dips gloomin in mists, of clouds and waves confusion
Which dark extends ahead into unbounded space and which teems
Belike a witches' caldron with waterspouts and seething streams.
As here I stand and backward gaze, in slav'ry groans the land there;
l gaze ahead, there the threatening elements mad strife prepare.
A tempest wild draws nigh; e'en now blows the wind my locks about,
While the voices of the storm my chain’s eternal clash o'ershout.
But I those fettered hands forth to the coming deluge extend,
And my cheeks, like maids on kisses bent, to the lashing winds I lend:
Welcome, storm. Your ghastly sight but promises redemption only,
And in your rumble and roar, 'tis freedom's song saluting me.
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