Siberia

The night-wind drives across the leaden skies,And fans the brooding earth with icy wings;Against the coast loud-booming billows flings,And soughs through forest-deeps with moaning sighs.Above the gorge, where snow, deep fallen, lies—A softness lending e'en to savage things—Above the gelid source of mountain springs,A solitary eagle, circling, flies.O pathless woods, O isolating sea,O steppes interminable, hopeless, cold,O grievous distances, imagine ye,Imprisoned here, the human soul to hold?Free, in a dungeon,—as yon falcon free,—It soars beyond your ken, its loved ones to infold!