| Beneath the lake of Bazaleti A golden cradle gleams; Around it blooms a wondrous garden — A paradise it seems. This hidden bower, thus veiled by waters, Dwells in eternity; It knows no time, nor sun, nor moonlight, No withered mortality. No biting frosts, no scorching sun Wither its bloom away, For in this realm of golden shade Eternal spring holds sway. Within the bosom of that lake A golden cradle lies; No mortal yet has ever dared To reach this paradise. With streaming hair, the sirens fair About this cradle throng; They sweetly hum and weave love’s snare In soft delusive song. ‘Tis said that glorious Queen Tamari Had placed the cradle so, And o’er it poured the tears a nation Had shed in anguished woe. But none can say what nameless babe Is cradled there below, Or why a nation’s tears conceal It there in endless flow… Perhaps it holds and cradles one Whose name none dares to speak — A nation’s hope, whom Georgians all In silent longing seek, If it be so, then happy he, Whose fame will ever glow, Whose puissant hand will be the first To grasp that crib below! If it be so, then happy she, The mother blest, sublime, Whose hallowed breast will be the first To feed that babe divine! | Deep down in Bazalethi’s lake, ‘Tis said a golden cradle lies, And there beneath the welling waves, An orchard blooms, and never dies. That garden gay is always green, Its blossoms never know decay; The changing seasons of this earth, That region rare need not obey. Nor summer’s sun, nor winter’s cold, Can harm that em’rald orchard gay For, in those sunlit glades of gold, Eternal spring doth hold her sway. In that fair garden’s very heart The golden cradle aye doth rest, There man hath never dared to go — That spot has never known a guest Translated by Marjory and Oliver Wardrops Ganatleba Publishers Tbilisi 1987 |
