No sound doth great the still of night;
My mother land in silence lies;
Yet oft is heard an anguished moan
As Georgia in her slumber sighs. 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? (Ilia Chavchavadze)

No sound doth great the still of night; My mother land in silence lies; Yet oft is heard an anguished moan As Georgia in her slumber sighs. 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?

Ilia Chavchavadze

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