Thy saintly face
In beauteous grace
Doth shine with virgin beauty sweet.
I humbly pray
And homage pay,
O’erwhelmed by sorrow at thy feet.
In joy I gaze,
In grief I gaze,
Oh, let me gaze thus e’er on thee.
Oh, let me sleep
In slumber deep,
My country’s downfall not to see!
A bower sublime,
This realm of thine;
Thy glory o’er it shines no more!
No splendour bright
Doth pierce with light
The gloom that shrouds its fame of yore!
Though like a dream,
A flashing gleam
A glorious sunset hid by night,
Thy past inspires
And kindles fires
In souls devoid of joy and light!
Though grieved and mute,
In solitude,
Hear thou my prayer of deep distress…
Thy land restore
To joy once more,
And once again thy country bless.
Let valour grand
Inspire thy land
And make it as of yore renowned
With faith divine
And language fine,
With knowledge deep and wisdom crowned!
Let victory’s cry,
Resounding high,
Redeem thy might of former time!
With eager ear
We crave to hear
Great Rustaveli’s word sublime!
We beg of thee
To make us free
And lead us on to liberty…
But woe, thy eyes
See but the skies
And not thy son in slavery!
Thus humbled low,
Thy son below,
A wretch unmanned, is stricken mute!
All hopes have fled,
All joy is dead:
By cruel despair I stand subdued!
Woe if thy name
And gloried fame
Will never rise again to bloom…
Perchance what fell
Was hurled to hell
By ravens black to death and doom!
A world of lies
Where honour dies,
And all that fades ne’er revives…
Of glory’s flame
That crowned thy name
Is this the relic that survives?
Midst grass and weeds
And tangled reeds
The temple’s ruins stand grim and tall,
Where Tamari’s face
In hallowed grace
Is traced upon a crumbling wall!
