O King of kings, that watching from Thy throne <br />Sufferest the monster of Ust-Kara's hold, <br />With bosom than Siberia's wastes more cold, <br />And hear'st the wail of captives crushed and prone, <br />And sett'st no sign in heaven! Shall naught atone <br />For their wild pangs whose tale is yet scarce told, <br />Women by uttermost woe made deadly bold, <br />In the far dungeon's night that hid their moan? <br />Why waits Thy shattering arm, nor smites this Power <br />Whose beak and talons rend the unshielded breast, <br />Whose wings shed terror and a plague of gloom, <br />Whose ravin is the hearts of the oppressed; <br />Whose brood are hell-births-Hate that bides its hour, <br />Wrath, and a people's curse that loathe their doom?<br /><br />William Watson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-russ-at-kara/
