The full-orbed moon her lustre sheds
And floods the land with lambent light.
The snowy ridge of distant mounts
Deep quiet holds the breath of night;
My mother-land in silence lies,
Yet oft is heard an anguished moan
As Georgia in her slumber sights.
I stand alone… The mountains, shades,
The slumber of my land caress.
O God! O God! when will we wake
And rise again to happiness?