An aloe stands in solitude upon a lofty precipice;
The sunbeams mingling with the shades the myriad boughs caress and kits.
'Tis Joy to dream beneath her shade - a refuge from this world of woe-
Where rustling leaves give soft response to murmurs of the stream below.

The wind the slender aloe bends; the river hums in harmony;
And all these sounds sweet slumber lure, where dreams expire in melody.
'Midst nature's things there is a tongue - the essence of a flow divine:
In vain can mortal lips express a sound more eloquent and fine!

In hopeless love the Mtkvari heaves; the rushing waters swish and hiss;
It cannot reach its loved one's feet, and beats with wrath the precipice.
The fair chinnari from its height in proud and haughty dignity,
Inclines its head and sadly sighs as Mtkvari groans in agony.

As gentle breezes sway the tree, the waters whirled from passions deep
By jealous frenzy rendered white, burst on and lash the rocky steep...
The heart must suffer endless pain if love sincere within it hides,
And if the love thus cherished dear in scorching fires of passion bides!

O Evil Spirit! You fiend of hell! who bade you be my guide,
To storm my life, to burn my brain and every joy to hide?
Why did you steal my peace and calm, my soul besteep in grief?
Why did you crush my youthful heart and kill its faith, belief?

Is this the pledge, the promised bliss my youth did hope from thee;
My soul to wing in fancied joy to realms of liberty?
Midst burning tears and woe-rent fears bright smiles I thought to find;
In hell I sought a paradise-to truth my eyes were blind.

Your words so false, though wondrous bright, where have they
Why did you tempt my wishes true - to be by furies led?
Reply! You fiend! You are silent now? 'Tis late to slink away;
Your power to charm, to lure, to blind, why has it lost its sway?

O cursed be that day when I blindly placed my faith and trust in thee,
And yielded up my fondest hopes, and let them martyred be!
Henceforth my soul does sob and sigh; its peace I flung away;
Its raging fires, its hopes, desires,- no passion's flame can slay!

Avaunt! Begonel O demon false! You harbinger of woe!
At random driven, my tortured soul no safe retreat does know.
My mind lacks faith, my heart mistrusts, my soul in pain sinks low.
O woe to him who feels the sting of your deadly smiting blow!