Past where the Urals, bleak and high,
Invade the cerulean sky
With summits desolate and gray,
With weary tread we wound our way.
Where intertwining branches made
A vernal canopy of shade,
The song-birds, from their arches high
Mocked at our chains, as we passed by;
The only forms of earth or air,
Deprived of rightful freedom there.