Where Kura and Aragva flow

Together in tumultuous race,

Like sisters meeting in embrace,

There stood, not many years ago,

A monastery; and on the scree

The passer-by even now may see

The domes and pillars of the shrine,

Fallen in ruin and decline.

Now no more the. censer's smoke

Spreads under them its fragrant cloak

Nor through the evening twilight rolls

The rune of monks who pray for souls.

One grey-haired recusant alone,

Half-living guardian of the spot,

By men and death alike forgot,

Sweeps off the dust from tomb and stone.

There dim inscriptions faintly drone

Of long-dead glory, and how here

Such a king in such a year,

Tired of his crown and troubled sore,

To Russia gave his kingdom o'er.

God's blessing fell on Georgia then:

She bloomed and glowed in every glen;

Safe in her gardens' kindly shade,

By friendly bayonets round arrayed,

Of no near enemy afraid.