THE GIFT OF Professor of the Romance Languages and Literatures. DAIS. Diit N - 7 '38 ^ i d u Cornell University Library PK 8536.B63 Armenian poems 3 1924 026 917 231 Cornell University Library The original of this bool< is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924026917231 ARMENIAN POEMS RAPHAEL PATKANIAN. Armenian Poems ISentieTcti into ISnglisi) Uerse ALICE STONE BLACKVVELL fcu i/)'//?i [i ifiufi, liujfuwqwE, ITlifllli ujOujpq iTajRnL i/IilD, "llimli qnainif tq[im [{[iliBLif USqujqiup UqajuiniPltLC' BOSTON ROBERTS BROTHERS 1896 r ' ,y By Alice Stone Blackwell. ■ig'Ai, 1896, I ®nttos:tg Press: John Wilson and Son, Cambridge,- U.S.A. % \ -^^ PREFACE. j WO considerations have led to the publication of these fugitive translations in book form. The first was the conviction that the sym- pathy already felt for the Armenians in their martyrdom at the hands of the Turks would be deepened by an acquaintance with the temper and genius of the people, as shown in their poetry. The second was the fact that Armenian poetic liter- ature, while well worthy to be known, was practically inaccessible to English-speaking readers. Of the sixty poems in this book, only two, so far as I can learn, have ever been put into English verse. The majority have never been translated, either in verse or prose. No attempt has been made to imitate the Armenian metres. The aim has been to reproduce the meaning of the original as accurately as possible, in the simplest English forms. This effort has been beset with difficulties. My knowledge of the Armenian language does not extend much beyond the alphabet. Each of these translations ii PREFACE. in verse has been made from a literal translation in prose, furnished to me in French or English by my Armenian friends. Thanks for this help are due to Mr. Ohannes Chatschumian, of Leipsic University; to Prof Minas Tcheraz, of King's College, London, editor of "L'Arm^nie" (Armenia) ; to Messrs. S. B. Avedis, O. H. Ateshian, G. H. Papazian, Bedros A. Keljik, and Arsen Damgagian, of Boston ; and to Mr. D. K. Varzhabedian, of Washington, D. C. Some of those who thus lent their assistance were hampered by an imperfect knowledge of Enghsh, and also (in the case of Alishan's poems, which are written in the ancient or classical Armenian) by an imperfect knowledge of the classical tongue. It is therefore probable that the work contains many errors. As the beauty of an Armenian girl is often conspicu- ous even in rags, so it is hoped that the beauty of some of these Armenian poems may be visible even through the poverty of their English dress. Alice Stone Blackwell. Dorchester, Mass. INTRODUCTION. |RMENIAN" poetry is so full of allusions to Vartan, Avarair, Haig, and Thorkom or Togarmah, as well as to the Garden of Eden, that a few preliminary notes are necessary by way of explanation. Armenia is a mountainous region of Western Asia, lying around Mount Ararat, and containing the sources of the Tigris, Euphrates, and Araxes rivers. It is south of the Caucasus Mountains, between the Black, Caspian, and Mediterranean seas. According to tra- dition, it was the site of the Garden of Eden. Armenia was the seat of one of the most ancient civilizations of the globe. Its people were contem- porary with the Assyrians and Babylonians. They are of Aryan race, and of pure Caucasian blood. Their origin is lost in the mists of antiquity. Ac- cording to their own tradition, they are the descendants of Thorkom, or Togarmah, a grandson of Japhet, who settled in Armenia after the Ark rested on Ararat. They call themselves Haik, and their country Haias- dan, after Haig, the son of Togarmah, one of their greatest kings. In the earliest days of recorded his- iv INTRODUCTION. tory, we find them occupying tlieir present home. They are referred to by Herodotus. Xenophon de- scribes their manners and customs mucli as they still exist. In the Bible it is mentioned that the sons of Sennacherib escaped "into the land of Armenia." Ezekiel also refers to Armenia, under the name of Togarmah, as furnishing Tyre with horses and mules, animals for which it is still famous; and "the King- dom of Ararat " is one of the nations summoned by Jeremiah to aid in the destruction of Babylon. Tradition relates that Christianity was preached in Armenia early in the first century, by the Apostles Thaddeus and Bartholomew. It is historic fact that in A. D. 276 the king and the whole nation became Christian, under the preaching of Saint Gregory, called "the Illuminator." The Armenian Church is thus the oldest national Christian church in the world. As a Christian nation whose lot has been cast be- yond the frontiers of Christendom, the Armenians have had to suffer constant persecution, — in early times from the Persian fire-worshippers, in later centuries from the Mohammedans Since the withdrawal of the Crusaders, to whom they alone of Asiatic nations gave aid and co-operation, the Armenians have been at the mercy of the surrounding heathen peoples. Their country has been invaded successively by the Caliphs of Bagdad, the Sultans of Egypt, the Khans of Tartary, the Shahs of Persia, and the Ottoman Turks. All these invasions were accompanied by fierce persecutions and great barbarities ; but the Ar- menians have held tenaciously to their faith for more than fifteen hundred years. introduction: v In the middle of the fifth century Armenia had already lost its national independence. It was ruled by feudal chiefs and princes who were subject to the King of Persia. The Persians at this time were aim- ing at the conquest and conversion of the world. In A. D. 450 the Persian King sent a letter to the Arme- nian princes, setting forth the excellence of fire-wor- ship and the foolishness of Christianity, an,d formally summoning Armenia to embrace fire-worship. A great council was called, in which bishops and laymen sat together, and a reply of unanimous refusal was drawn up. Eghichd, an Armenian historian of the fifth cen- tury, one of the bishops who signed the refusal, has preserved in his history the text of this remarkable document. First they answered at considerable length the arguments of the Persian King against Christianity. In conclusion they said ; — " From this faith no one can move us, — neither angels nor men ; neither sword, nor fire, nor water, nor any deadly punishment. If you leave us our faith, we will accept no other lord in place of you j but we will accept no God in place of Jesus Christ : there is no other God beside him. If, after this great confession, you ask anything more of us, lo, we are before you, and our lives are in your power. From you, torments ; from us, submission ; your sword, our necks. We are not better than those who have gone before us, who gave up their goods and their lives for this testimony." The King of Persia was as much amazed as enraged by the boldness of this reply ; for Armenia was a small country, and stood alone, without allies, against the vast power of Persia. A Persian army of 200,000 men was vi INTRODUCTION. sent into Armenia. The battle was fought on the plain of Avarair, under Mount Ararat. The much smaller force of the Armenians was defeated, and their leader, Var- tan, was killed. But the obstinate resistance offered by rich and poor — men, women, and children — convinced the King of Persia that he could never make fire- worshippers of the Armenians. As the old historian quaintly expresses it, " The swords of the slayers grew dull, but their necks were not weary." Even the high- priest of fire saw that the Persians had undertaken an impossibility, and said to the Persian King : — " These people have put on Christianity, not like a garment, but like their flesh and blood. Men who do not dread fetters, nor fear torments, nor care for their property, and, what is worst of all, who choose death rather than hfe, — who can stand against them ? " This batde was the Armenian Marathon, and the national songs are full of allusions to it. To-day, after fifteen hundred years, the mountaineers of the Cauca- sus, at their festivals, still drink the health of Vartan next after that of the Catholicos, or head of their church. From time immemorial it has been the cus- tom in Armenian schools to celebrate the anniversary of the battle with songs and recitations, and to wreathe the picture of Vartan with red flowers. Of late years this celebration has been forbidden by the Russian and Turkish governments. In the minds of the common people, all sorts of pic- turesque superstitions still cluster around that battle- field. A particular kind of red flowers grow there, that are found nowhere else, and it is believed that they sprang from the blood of the Christian army. A mmoDUCTioN. vii species of antelope, with a pouch on its breast secret- ing a fragrant musk, is supposed to have acquired this peculiarity by browsing on grass wet with the same blood. It is also believed that at Avarair the nightin- gales all sing, " Vartan, Vartan ! " The Armenians, according to their own histories and traditions, enjoyed four periods of national inde- pendence, .under four different dynasties, extending over about 3,000 years. The ruins of Ani and other great cities still testify to their former power and splendor. It is now many centuries, however, since they lost their political independence ; and their country has been little more than a battle-ground for rival invaders. T^menia, an Asiatic Poland, is now divided between Russia, Persia, and Turkey, the largest portion being under Turkish rule ; and the Armenian race, once very numerous, had been reduced, even before the recent massacres, to about 3,000,000. Within the last few months at least 50,000 have been slaughtered. Prof. James Bryce, who has travelled in Armenia, and has for many years taken a special interest in the Armenians, thus describes them : — " They are a strong race, not only with vigorous nerves and sinews, physically active and energetic, but also of conspicuous brain power. Thus they have held a very important place among the inhabitants of Western Asia ever since the sixth century. If you look into the annals of the East Roman or Byzantine Empire, you will find that most of the men who rose to eminence in its service as generals or statesmen during the early middle ages were of Armenian stock. viii INTRODUCTION. So was it also after the establishment of the Turkish dominion in Europe. Many of the ablest men in the Turkish service have been Armenian by birth or extrac- tion. The same is true with regard to the Russian ser- vice. Among all those who dwell in Western Asia, they stand first, with a capacity for intellectual and moral progress, as well as with a natural tenacity of will and purpose, beyond that of all their neighbors, not merely of Turks, Tartars, Kurds, and Persians, but also of Russians." For a fuller account of the Armenians, and a history of their sufferings under the Turkish government, the reader is referred to the following works : " Armenia, the Armenians, and the Treaties," by M. G. Rolin- Jaequemyns, President of the Belgian Institute of International Law ; "The Armenian Crisis in Turkey," by Frederick D. Greene ; " The Armenians, or the People of Ararat," by Dr. M. C. Gabrielian ; and " England's Responsibility towards Armenia," by Canon Malcolm McColl. A specimen of the prose poetry of the Armenians, dating from the fifth century, will be found in the Appendix. TABLE OF CONTENTS. BEDROS TOURIAN. Page Little Lake 13 Wishes for Armenia 16 To Love ig New Dark Days 22 What are you, Love? . . 25 I have Loved Thee 28 In Memoriam of Vartan Lutfian . She 3° 32 Little Gifts 33 My Grief 34 Complaints 35 Repentance 38 MICHAEL NALBANDIAN. Liberty 3g Days of Childhood 41 ARCHBISHOP KHORENE NAR BEY DE LUSIGNAN. Armenia The Wandering Armenian to the Cloud To MY Sister 43 45 47 TABLE OF CONTENTS. Gentle Breeze of Armenia Let us Live Armenians . . Let us Die Armenians . . The First Green Leaves 52 55 58 MUGURDITCH BESHIKTASHLIAN. Death of a Youth of Zeitoun .... . 60 Spring . 62 A Brave Son of Armenia ... -63 We are Brothers . . 64 RAPHAEL PATKANIAN. Cradle Song . . . The Tears of Araxes The Armenian Girl The New Generation Lullaby . ... To my Nightingale . Shall vste be Silent t If Praise to the Sultan What shall we Do ? The Sad-Faced Moon Complaint to Europe Song of the Van Mother Easter Song 66 68 72 74 75 77 79 82 84 85 86 90 92 94 LEO ALTSHAN. The Virgin's Tears Easter Song . . The Exiles . Moon in the Armenian Cemetery The Lily of Shavarshan . . . . The Nightingale of Avarair . . A Song op Fatherland ... Weep not ... ■ 95 97 . 98 • 99 ■ 103 . 107 . no 112 TABLE OF CONTENTS. MISCELLANEOUS. Pace The Christ-Child . St. Gregory of Narek 115 Hymn . Nerses the Graceful . 116 Love Song Sdiat Nova. ... 119 A Good Comrade Djivan ... .121 The Youth AND THE Streamlet 122 The Lake of Van "Raffi" . . . 124 Thou and I 125 To my Sweetheart Koutcharian . 127 The Cheaghan Palace . . . Terzyan 128 The Wandering Armenian to the Swallow . . . Totochian . . . 130 Song of Revolution 132 The Lament OF Mother Armenia 133 The Son of Dalvorig .... Damadian .... 135 APPENDIX. The Armenian Women . . Eghiche . . . 139 ARMENIAN POEMS. LITYLE LAKE. Bedros Tourian, the son of an Armenian blacksmith o£ Scutari, was born in 1851. He lived in great poverty, and died of consumption in 1872. He left a number of dramas and poems that enjoy a great popularity among his countrymen. HY dost thou lie in hushed surprise, Thou little lonely mere ? Did some fair woman wistfully Gaze in thy mirror clear? Or are thy waters calm and still Admiring the blue sky, Where shining cloudlets, like thy foam, Are drifting softly by ? Sad little lake, let us be friends ! I too am desolate ; I too would fain, beneath the sky, In silence meditate. 14 ARMENIAN POEMS. As many thoughts are in my mind As wavelets o'er thee roam ; As many wounds are in my heart As thou hast flakes of foam. But if heaven's constellations all Should drop into thy breast, Thou still wouldst not be like my soul, ■ A flame- sea without rest. There, when the air and thou are calm. The clouds let fall no showers ; The stars that rise there do not set, And fadeless are the flowers. Thou art my queen, O little lake ! For e'en when ripples thrill Thy surface, in thy quivering depths Thou hold'st me, trembling, still. Full many have rejected me : "What has he but his lyre? " " He trembles, and his face is pale ; His life must soon expire ! " None said, " Poor child, why pines he thus ? If he beloved should be, Haply he might not die, but live, — Live, and grow fair to see." LITTLE LAKE. IS None sought the boy's sad heart to read, Nor in its depths to look. They would have found it was a fire, And not a printed book ! Nay, ashes now ! a memory ! Grow stormy, little mere, For a despairing man has gazed Into thy waters clear ! 1 6 ARMENIAN POEMS. WISHES FOR ARMENIA. HEN bright dews fall on leaf and flower, And stars light up the skies, Then tears and sparks commingled Burst forth from my dim eyes. Forget thee, O Armenia ! Nay, rather may I be Transformed into a cypress dark, And so give shade to thee ! The starry sky no comfort brings : To me it seems a veil Strewn with the tears that Ararat Sheds from his summit pale. O graves ! O ruins ! to my soul Your memory is as dear As to the lover's thirsting heart The maiden's first love-tear. And shall my spirit after death Oblivious be of you? Nay, but become a flood of tears, And cover you with dew ! Not sword nor chains, abysses deep Nor precipices fell, Not thunder's roll, nor lightning's flash, Nor funeral torch and knell — WISHES FOR ARMENIA. 17 Not all of these, 'neath death's dark stone Can ever hide from me The glowing memories of the past, Our days of liberty. Forget you ? Ne'er will I forget, O glorious days of yore ! Rather may I be changed to fire And bring you back once more ! When twinkle pale the stars at dawn, When dewy buds unclose. And tenderly tire nightingale Is singing to the rose, All Nature's harmonies, alas ! Can ne'er give back to me The sighs that sound where cypress boughs Are moaning like the sea. Forget you, black and bitter days? No, never ! but instead Rather may I be turned to blood, And make your darkness red ! Armenia's mountains dark may smile, Siberia's ice may smoke, But stern, unbending spirits still Press on my neck the yoke. Inflexible and cold are they ; When feeling surges high, And I would speak, they stifle down My free soul's bitter cry. ARMENIAN POEMS. Forget thee, justice ? Never ! But ere my life departs, Rather may I become a sword, And make thee pierce men's hearts! When e'en the rich man and the priest A patriot's ardor feel, And when Armenian hearts at length Are stirred with love and zeal — When free-souled sons Armenia bears, These days of coldness past, And tires of love and brotherhood Are lighted up at last — Shall I forget thee then, my lyre ? Ah, no ! but when I die Rather may I become thy voice. And o'er Armenia sigh ! TO LOVE. 19 TO I.OVE. GALAXY of glances bright, A sweet bouquet of smiles, A crucible of melting words Bewitched me with their wiles ! I wished to live retired, to love The flowers and bosky glades, The blue sky's lights, the dew of morn, The evening's mists and shades ; To scan my destiny's dark page, In thought my hours employ, And dwell in meditation deep And visionary joy. Then near me stirred a breath that seemed A waft of Eden's air. The rustle of a maiden's robe, A tress of shining hair. I sought to make a comrade dear Of the transparent brook. It holds no trace of memory ; When in its depths I look, ARMENIAN POEMS. I find there floating, clear and pale. My face ! Its waters hold No other secret in their breast Than wavelets manifold. I heard a heart's ethereal throb ; It whispered tenderly : "Dost thou desire a heart? " it said. " Beloved, come to me ! " I wished to love the zephyr soft That breathes o'er fields of bloom ; It woundeth none, — a gentle soul Whose secret is perfume. So sweet it is, it has the power To nurse a myriad dreams ; To mournful spirits, like the scent Of paradise it seems. Then from a sheaf of glowing flames To me a whisper stole : It murmured low, " Dost thou desire To worship a pure soul?" I wished to make the lyre alone My heart's companion still, To know it as a loving friend, And guide its chords at will TO LOVE. But she drew near me, and I heard A whisper soft and low : " Thy lyre is a cold heart,'' she said, " Thy love is only woe.' My spirit recognized her then ; She beauty was, and fire. Pure as the brook or as the breeze. And faithful as the lyre. My soul, that from the path had erred, Spread wide its wings to soar. And bade the life of solitude Farewell forevermore. A galaxy of glances bright, A sweet bouquet of smiles, A crucible of melting words Bewitched me with their wiles ! ARMENIAN POEMS. NEW DARK DAYS. HHE centuries of bloodshed Are past, those cruel years ; But there is still one country Whose mountains drip with tears, Whose river-banks are blood-stained, Whose mourning loads the breeze, — A land of dreary ruins, Ashes, and cypress-trees. No more for the Armenian A twinkling star appears ; His spirit's fiowers have faded Beneath a rain of (ears. Ceased are the sounds of harmless mirth, The dances hand in hand ; Only the weapon of the Koord Shines freely through the land. The bride's soft eyes are tearful, Behind her tresses' flow, Lest the Koord's shout should interrupt Love's whisper, sweet and low. Red blood succeeds love's rosy flush ; Slain shall the bridegroom be, And by the dastard Koords the bride Be led to slavery. NEW DARK DAYS. The peasant sows, but never reaps ; He hungers evermore ; He eats his bread in bitterness, And tastes of anguish sore. Lo ! tears and blood together Drop from his pallid face ; And these are our own brothers, Of our own blood and race ! The forehead pure, the sacred veil Of the Armenian maid, Shall rude hands touch, and hell's hot breath Her innocence invade ? They do it as men crush a flower. By no compunction stirred ; They slaughter an Armenian As they would kill a bird. O roots of vengeance, heroes' bones. Who fell of old in fight. Have ye all crumbled into dust, Nor sent one shoot to light? Oh, of that eagle nation Now trampled by the Koord, Is nothing left but black-hued crows, And moles with eyes obscured? Give back our sisters' roses. Our brothers who have died, The crosses of our churches. Our nation's peace and pride ! 23 24 ARMENIAN POEMS. O Sultan, we demand of thee And uith our hearts entreat — ■ Give us protection from the Koord, Or arras his arms to meet ! ^ ' The Armenians, being Chiistian.o, are not allowed by the Turkish government to bear arms, and are forbidden, under heavy penalties, to [jossess any weapons. WHAT ARE YOU, LOVHl 25 WHAT ARE YOU, LOVE? HAT are you, love ? A flame from heaven ? A radiant smile are you? The heaven has not your eyes' bright gleams. The heaven has not their blue. The rose has not your snowy breast ; In the moon's face we seek In vain the rosy flush that dyes Your soft and blushing cheek. By night you smile upon the stars, And on the amorous moon, By day upon the waves, the flowers — Why not on one alone? But, though I pray to you with tears, With tears and bitter sighs, You will not deign me yet one glance Cast by your sliining eyes. O love, are you a mortal maid, Or angel formed of light ? The spring rose and the radiant moon Envy your beauty bright ; 26 ARMENIAN POEMS. And when your sweet and thrilling voice Is heard upon the air, In cypress depths the nightingale Is silent in despair. Would I, a zephyr, might caress Your bright brow's dreams in sleep, Breathe gently on your lips, and dry Your tears, if you should weep ! Or would that in your garden fair A weeping rose I grew ; And when you came resplendent there At morning with the dew, I 'd give fresh color to your cheek That makes the rose look pale. Shed on your breast my dew, and there My latest breath exhale. Oh, would I were a limpid brook! If softly you drew nigh, And smiled into my mirror clear, My blue waves would run dry. Oh, would I were a sunbeam bright, To make you seem more fair, Touching your face, and dying soon Amid your fragrant hair ! WHAT ARE YOU, LOVE? But, if you love another, His gravestone may I be ! Tlien you would linger near me, Your tears would fall on me ; Your sighs would wander o'er me, Sighs for his early doom. To touch you, O beloved, 1 must become a tomb ! 27 I ARMENIAN POEMS. I HAVE LOVED THEE. r was the hour of dew and light ; 111 heaven a conflagration cold Of roses burned, instead of clouds ; There was a rain of pearls and gold. Then deep within a flowering grove I saw thee, love, reclined at ease, And thou wast languishing and pale. And sighing like a summer breeze. Plucking a blossom's leaves apart With fingers fair as lilies are ; Thine eyes, the temples of love's fire. Were fixed upon the heavens afar. I marvelled tliat thy fingers soft, Wherein the haughty rose was pressed, Had power to pluck her leaves away And scatter them upon thy breast. A strange new Iieaven shone within Thine eyes, so dark and languishing; A heaven where, instead of stars, Arrows of fire were glittering. r HAVE LOVED THEE. 29 Ah, thou hast made of me a slave To one bright glance, one word of thine ! The rays thy soul sheds, cruel maid. Become as fetters laid on mine. Oh, leave my heart, from me depart ! I for my queen desire not thee ; Thy breast is like the rose's leaf. Thy heart as granite hard to me. Thou knowest naught, thou fragrant one, Save wounds in tender hearts to make, Happy when thine adorer's breast Bleeds in profusion for thy sake. When, lonely in a grove's deep shade, I weep, and all my sad heart grieves, Lo, thou art there ! Thou findest me, Thou speakest to me through the leaves. When in the swift and shining stream I seek oblivion of thy face, Thou findest me, and from the waves Thou smilest up with witching grace. When to the rocks and mountains steep To break my heart and lyre I flee, Thou murmurest ever in the wind That thou hadst never love for me. I will embrace the frozen earth, And hide from thee in dreamless sleep. The dark grave is a virgin too ; Is any other heart so deep? _30 ARMENIAN POEMS. m MEMORIAM OF VARTAN LUTFIAN. UR two devoted hearts were joined and bound By streaming rays, with heaven's own light aglow ; We read each other's souls hke open books. Where 'neath each word lay depths of love and woe. Dost thou remember, on Mount Chamlaja, In the dark cypress shade where mourners sigh, How we two mused, and watched the Bosphorus, Stamboul's blue girdle, and the cloudless sky? We sat in silence ; any uttered word Would but have marred our souls' infinity. There like two flames we burned without a sound, And shone upon each other, pale to see. Like sad black moths that haunt the cypresses. Our souls drank in the shadow and the gloom. Drank endless sorrow, drank the dark-hued milk Of hopelessness and of the silent tomb. Deeply we drank, and long ; but thou didst drain The darksome cup that to thy lips was given, 'I'ill thou wast drunken with it, and became Thenceforth a pale and silent son of heaven. IN MEMORIAM OF VARTAN LUTFIAN. 31 Thy paleness grieved my soul ; thy last faint look, Turned on me ere thy spirit did depart, Has fixed forevermore, O friend beloved, The memory of thee in my aching heart. Oh, art thou happy or unhappy there? Send me a message by an angel's wing ! Tedious, alas ! and weary is this world, Mother of griefs and bitter sorrowing. If in that world there is a shady tree, And a clear brook that softly murmurs near ; If there are found affection and pure love, If the soul breathes a free, fresh atmosphere — This very day would I put off this life, This poor soiled garment should to dust return. Ah, Vartan, answer ! In the unknown land. Say, hast thou found the things for which I yearn ? 32 ARMENIAN POEMS. SHE. ERE not the rose's hue hke that which glows On her soft cheek, who would esteem the rose? Were not the tints of heaven like those that lie In her blue eyes, whose gaze would seek the sky ? Were not the maiden innocent and fair. How would men learn to turn to God in prayer? LITTLE GIFTS. 33 LITTLE GIFTS. HE was alone. I brought a gift — A rose, surpassing fair ; And when she took it from my hand She blushed with pleasure there. Compared with her, how poor and pale The red rose seemed to be ! My gift was nothing to the kiss My lady gave to me. 34 ARMENIAN POEMS. MY GRIEF. O thirst with sacred longings, And find the springs all dry, And in my flower to fade, — not this The grief for which I sigh. Ere yet my cold, pale brow has been Warmed by an ardent kiss, To rest it on a couch of earth, — My sorrow is not this. Ere I embrace a live bouquet Of beauty, smiles and fire, The cold grave to embrace, — not this Can bitter grief inspire. Ere a sweet, dreamful sleep has lulled My tempest-beaten brain, To slumber in an earthy bed, — Ah, this is not my pain. My country is forlorn, a branch Withered on life's great tree ; To die unknown, ere succoring her, — This only grieveth me ! COMPLAINTS. 35 COMPLAINTS. This poem and the next were written on successive days, a short time before Tourian's death. AREVVELL to thee, O God, to thee, O sun, Ye twain that shine above my soul on high ! My spirit from the earth must pass away ; I go to add a star to yonder sliy. What are the stars but curses of sad souls, — Souls guiltless, but ill-fated, that take flight To burn the brow of heaven ? They only serve To make more strong the fiery armor bright Of God, the source of lightnings ! But, ah me ! What words are these I speak? With thunder smite, O God, and shatter the presumptuous thoughts That fill me, — giant thoughts and infinite, Thoughts of an atom in thy universe. Whose spirit dares defy its mortal bars, And seeks to dive into the depth of heaven. And climb the endless stairway of the stars ! Hail to thee, God, thou Lord of trembling man, Of waves and flowers, of music and of light ! Thou who hast taken from my brow the rose, And from my soul the power of soaring flight ; 36 ARMENIAN POEMS. Thou who hast spread a cloud before mine eyes, And given these deathly flutterings to my heart, And bidd'st me smile upon thee on the brink Of the dark tomb, to wliich I must depart ! Doubtless thou hast for me a future life Of boundless light, of fragrance, prayer, and praise ; But, if my last breath here below must end Speechless and mute, breathed out in mist and haze- Ah, then, instead of any heavenly life To greet me when my earthly span is o'er, May I become a pallid lightning flash, Cling to thy name, and thunder evermore ! Let me become a curse, and pierce thy side ! Yea, let me call thee " God the pitiless ! " Ah me, I tremble ! I am pale as death ; My heart foams like a hell of bitterness ! I am a sigh that moans among the sad, Dark cypresses, — a withered leaf the strife Of autumn winds must quickly bear away. Ah, give me but one spark, one spark of life ! What ! after this brief, transitory dream Must I embrace for aye the grave's cold gloom? God, how dark a destiny is mine ! Was it writ out with lees from the black tomb? Oh, grant my soul one particle of fire ! 1 would still love, would live, and ever live ! Stars, drop into my soul ! A single spark Of life to your ill-fated lover give ! COMPLAINTS. 37 Spring offers not one rose to my pale brow, The sunbeams lend me not one smile of light. jSTight is my bier, the stars my torches are, The moon weeps ever in tiie depths of night. Some men there are with none to weep for them ; Therefore God made the moon. In shadows dim Of coining death, man has but two desires, — First, life ; then some one who shall mourn for him. In vain for me the stars have written " Love," The bulbul taught it me with silver tongue ; In vain the zephyrs breathed it, and in vain My image in the clear stream showed me young. In vain the groves kept silence round about, The secret leaves forbore to breathe or stir Lest they should break my reveries divine ; Ever they suffered me to dream of her. In vain the flowers, dawn of the spring, breathed forth Incense to my heart's altar, from the sod. Alas, they all have mocked me ! All the world Is nothing but the mockery of God ! 38 ARMENIAN POEMS. REPENTANCE. ESTERDAY, when in slumber light and chill, Drenched in cold sweats, upon my couch I lay, While on my panting cheeks two roses burned And on my brow sat mortal pallor gray, — Then on my soul, athirst for love, there fell My mother's sobs, who wept beside my bed. When I unclosed my dim and weary eyes, I saw her tears of pity o'er me shed. I felt upon my face my mother's kiss, A sacred last remembrance, on death's shore ; All her great sorrow in that kiss was breathed — And it was I who caused her anguish sore ! Ah, then a tempest rose and shook my soul, A storm of bitter grief, that blasts and sears ; Then I poured forth that torrent dark. My God, Forgive me I I had seen my mother's tears. LIBERTY. 39 LIBERTY. Michael Ghazarian Nalbandian was born in Russian Armenia in 1830 ; graduated at the University of St. Peters- burg with the title of Professor ; was active as a teacher, author, and journalist j fell under suspicion for his political opinions, and underwent a rigorous imprisonment of three years, after which he was exiled to the province of Sarakov, and died there in i866 of lung disease contracted in prison. It is forbidden in Russia to possess a picture of Nalbandian ; but portraits of him, with his poem on " Liberty " printed around the margin, are circulated secretly. HEN God, who is forever free, Breathed life into my earthly frame, — From that first day, by His free will When I a Hving soul became, — A babe upon my mother's breast. Ere power of speech was given to me. Even then I stretched my feeble arms Forth to embrace thee, Liberty ! Wrapped round with many swaddling bands, All night I did not cease to weep, And in the cradle, restless still, My cries disturbed my mother's sleep. " O mother ! " in my heart I prayed, " Unbind my arms and leave me free ! " And even from that hour I vowed To love thee ever, Liberty ! 40 ARMENIAN POEMS. When first my faltering tongue was fi-eed, And when my parents' hearts were stirred With thrilling joy, to hear tlieir son Pronounce his first clear-spoken word, " Papa, Mamma," as children use, Were not the names first said by me ; The first word on my childish Hps Was thy great name, O Liberty ! " Liberty ! " answered fi-om on high The sovereign voice of Destiny : " Wilt thou enroll thyself henceforth A soldier true of Liberty? The path is thorny all the way, And many trials wait for thee ; Too strait and narrow is this world For him who loveth Liberty." " Freedom ! " I answered, " on my head Let fire descend and thunder burst ; Let foes against my life conspire, Let all who hate thee do their worst : I will be true to thee till death ; Yea, even upon the gallows tree The last breath of a death of shame Shall shout thy name, O Liberty ! " £>AYS OF CHILDHOOD. 41 DAYS OF CHILDHOOD. AYS of my childhood, hke a dream Ye fleeted, to return no more. Ah, happy days and free from care, Ye brought but joy in passing o'er ! Then Science came, and on the world He gazed with grave, observant looks ; All things were analyzed and weighed, And all my time was given to books. When to full consciousness I woke, My country's woes weighed down my heart. Apollo gave me then his lyre, To bid my gloomy cares depart. Alas ! that lyre beneath my touch Sent forth a grave and tearful voice, Sad as my soul ; no single chord Would breathe a note that said " Rejoice ! " Ah, then at last T felt, I knew. There never could be joy for me. While speechless, sad, in alien hands. My country languished to be free. 42 ARMENIAN POEMS. Apollo, take thy lyre again, And let its voice, amid the groves, Sound for some man who may in peace Devote his life to her he loves ! To the arena I vv'ill go. But not with lyre and flowery phrase ; I will protest and cry aloud, And strive with darkness all my days. What boots to-day a mournful lyre? To-day we need the sword of strife. Upon the foeman sword and fire, — Be that the watchword of my life ! ARMENIA 43 ARMENIA. Archbishop KnoRfeNE Nar Bey de Xusignan was a descendant of the last dynasty of Armenian kings. His brotlier, Prince Guy de Lusignan, is still living in Paris. Nar Bey studied at the celebrated convent of the Mechitarists in Venice, but early left the Roman Catholic for the Armenian Church. He became an Archbishop, and was elected Patri- arch of Constantinople, but declined to serve. He was an eloquent preacher, and a distinguished poet, author, and lin- guist. Nar Bey was a friend of Lamartine, whose poems he translated into Armenian. He was one of the Armenian dele- gates to the Berlin Congress of 1878. He died at Constanti- nople in 1892, poisoned, it was commonly believed, by the Turkish government, for political reasons. F a sceptre of diamond, a glittering crown, Were mine, at thy feet I would lay them both down, Queen of queens, O Armenia ! If a mande of purple were given to me, A mande for kings, I would wrap it round thee, Poor Armenia, my mother ! If the fire of my youth and its sinews of steel Could return, I would offer its rapture and zeal All to thee, my Armenia I 44 ARMEN'IAN POEMS. Had a lifetime of ages been granted to me, I had given it gladly and freely to thee, O my life, my Armenia ! Were I offered the love of a maid lily-fair, 1 would choose thee alone for my joy and my care, My one love, my Armenia ! Were I given a crown of rich pearls, I should prize, Far more than their beauty, one tear froin thine eyes, O my weeping Armenia ! If freedom unbounded were proffered to me, I would choose still to share thy sublime slavery, O my mother, Armenia ! Were I offered proud Europe, to take or refuse. Thee alone, with thy griefs on thy head, would I choose For my country, Armenia ! Might I choose from the world where my dwelling should be, I would say, Still thy ruins are Eden to me, My beloved Armenia ! Were I given a seraph's celestial lyre, I would sing with my soul, to its chords of pure fire, Thy dear name, my Armenia ! WANDERING ARMENIAN TO THE CLOUD. 45 THE WANDERING ARMENIAN TO THE CLOUD. LOUD, whither dost thou haste away So swiftly through the air? Dost thou to some far-distant land An urgent message bear? VVitli gloomy aspect, dark and sad. Thou movest on through space ; Dost thou hide vengeance, or has grief O'ershadowed thy bright face ? Did a wind come and exile thee Far from thy heavenly home. Like me, in homesickness and tears Across the world to roam? Like me, who wander now, my griefs Sole comrades left to me. While, longing for my fatherland, I pine on land and sea? Cloud, when thy heart is full of tears Thou hast relief in rain ; When indignation brims thy breast, Fierce lightnings tell thy pain. 46 ARMENIAN POEMS. Though my heart too is full, my brow With painful thoughts oppressed, To whom can I pour forth the griefs That fill an exile's breast? O cloud, thou hast no native land ! Far happier thou than I ; To north, to south thou floatest free, At home in all the sky. But I, at every step, shed tears. In sadness and in gloom ; Each step away from fatherland Is nearer to my tomb ! TO MY SISTER. 47 TO MY SISTER. AIN would I be to thee, my sister sweet, Like the bright cloud beneath Aurora's feet. A pedestal to help thee mount on high Into the blessed peace of the blue sky. The zephyr would I be, to which is given To waft the rose's fragrance up to heaven, That thy pure soul, amid life's stress and strain, Might not exhale its perfume sweet in vain. Fain would I be to thee as crystal dew Of morn, that doth the young flower's sap renew, And with its vapor veils her from the sun, Lest thy fresh heart be seared ere day is done. Fain would I be to thee a nightingale. Telling within thine ear so sweet a tale ; No meaner strain thine eyes with sleep should dim, And thou shouldst wake to hear a sacred hymn. Fain would I be to thee a broad-armed tree That casts wide shadow on the sultry lea, And cheers from far the wandering traveller's view ; So would my love shed o'er thee shade and dew. 48 ARMENIAN POEMS. Fain would I be to thee a refuge sure, As 'neath the thatch the swallow builds secure. A humble roof, it yet the rain can ward ; So I from storms thine innocence would guard. Ah ! when to thee this world, as yet unknown, Its barren hopes, its bitterness hath shown. Fain, fain would I bring comfort in that hour To thy sad heart. Oh, would I had the power ! GENTLE BREEZE OF ARMENIA. ^g GENTLE BREEZE OF ARMENIA. HERP] art thou, sweet and gentle breeze, Breeze of my fatherland ? The spring has come, and tender flowers Bud forth on every hand ; The warm sun smiles upon the world, The skies are soft and blue ; Ah, zephyr of Armenia, Wilt thou not greet us too ? My country's stars I see no more Beneath these alien skies. And when the radiant spring returns, The sad tears fill my eyes. The sun for exiles has no light. Though soft it shine and bland. Where art thou, oh, where art thou. Breeze of my fatherland ? Where art thou, breeze of Ararat? Our sad hearts long for thee, For poplar trees of Armavir That whisper pleasantly. Spring in whose bosom shines no flower Sprung from .Armenian earth, To the Armenian is not spring. But winter's cold and dearth. 4 JO ARMENIAN POEMS. Behold, all Nature calls on us, With invitation glad, To celebrate her victory O'er Winter, dark and sad. The ice has melted, and the flowers Awaken and expand ; Where are you, breezes sweet and soft, Airs of the fatherland ? Out of long, gloomy winters, The winters of the past, Oh, blow for the Armenians, And bring us spring at last ! Awake exalted memories Of glorious deeds and grand ! Alas, hast thou forgotten us, Breeze of the fatherland ? Hast thou forgot our tearful eyes, Our bleeding hearts that ache ? Wilt thou not mingle in our griefs, Lamenting for our sake ? Why should our sad lyre sob in tears. In bitter tears like these. And thou not come to thrill its chords, O soft Armenian breeze? Oh, from our country's ruins Waft to us through the air Dust of our glorious ancestors. Whose bones are buried there ! GENTLE BREEZE OF ARMENIA. Life-giving breeze, Armenian breeze From distant Edens blown, Oh, bring to us our fathers' sighs, To whisper with our own ! One token bring from home, one drop Prom the Araxes' shore ! Let tears and smiles with memories blend — Thoughts of our sires of yore. Kiss the Armenian's brow and breast ; Wake patriot ardor bold ! Where art thou, O life-bringing breeze Our sires inhaled of old? Power to Armenian cymbals give. And in our souls inspire The zeal of Coghtn's ancient bards, Their fervor and their fire ! Imbue Armenian hearts afresh With courage firm and true ; Ah, zephyr of Armenia, Awake our hope anew I 51 4 52 ARMENIAN POEMS. LET US LIVE ARMENIANS. IVE as Armenians, brethren, in this world ! That name to us do history's pages give ; The heavens above salute us by that name : Then, brethren, as Armenians let us live ! Armenians we ! That hero was our sire Who taught mankind for freedom first to strive ; ^ He gave us for our portion a great name : Then, brethren, as Armenians let us live ! Our land is holy ; on its sacred soil God walked, what time he Adam forth did drive ; ^ Our language he devised ; he spoke it first : Then, brethren, as Armenians let us live ) We have one cradle with the human race ; Our land salvation to the world did give ; Faith's earliest altar was Mount Ararat : Then, brethren, as Armenians let us live ! 1 According to tradition, at the time of the building of the tower of Babel, Haig, the ancestor of the Armenians, rebelled against the tyranny of the Assyrian king, and forsook the work with his tribe. The constellation Orion is called by his name in tlie Armenian language. 2 Tradition locates the Garden of Eden in Armenia, between the Euphrates and Tigris ; and the Armenians believe that their language was spoken by Adam and Eve. LET US LIVE ARMENIANS. c. Noble our name is ; not on earth alone, But in the heavens it shines forth gloriously. The stars of valiant Haig are deathless there i Brethren, Armenians let us ever be ! Live as Armenians ! From the past what land So many ancient glories doth derive ? What nation has so beautiful a home ? Then, brethren, as Armenians let us live ! Unto what nation did the King of heaven Send four apostles as an embassy,' And with what monarch did he correspond ? Brethren, Armenians let us ever be ! Who can count o'er the names of all our saints ? One roll of martyrs is our history ; Our church on earth is like to heaven itself: Brethren, Armenians let us ever be \ To us was Christ's first benediction given ; The champions of the faith for aye were we ; Armenia's deeds astonislied earth and heaven : Brethren, Armenians let us ever be ! Our nation, ever following the Lord, Has borne the cross for many a century ; No, she will not be a deserter now ! Brethren, Armenians let us ever be ! 1 The tradition is that Apgar, King of Armenia, sent mes- ssngers to Jesus, entreating him to come and cure the king of a painful malady, and offering to become a Christian. Jesus 54 ARMENIAN POEMS. Yes, sorrowful is life beneath the cross ; Yes, as Armenians we with pain must strive ; Yet wears the cross the seal of victory ■ Then, brethren, as Armenians let us live ! Our home beloved, our sceptre and our crown. With clouds are covered in obscurity : Have hope ! the heavens yet shall give us light : Brethren, Armenians let us ever be ! No, not forever shall our fate be sad, Our lot, to eat and drink of misery ; A new and happy future waits for us ! Brethren, Armenians let us ever be ! Live as Armenians, that our sons as well May boast that they are our posterity ; Let us do no dishonor to our name ! Brethren, Armenians let us ever be ! Live as Armenians ! Some day, over death Armenia yet shall rise in victory. Soon may that glad day dawn for us, O heaven ! Brethren, Armenians let us ever be ! declined to come, but promised to send some of his apostles after his death who would cure the king. This was done ; and Apgar and many of his subjects embraced Christianity. LET US DIE ARMENIANS. 55 LET US DIE ARMENIANS. |ROTHERS, we have no hope from foreigners ; Gaze not around for aid ! Though with good-will The foreigner receive you as a guest, He is an alien still. Unmoved he sees your pain ; what matters it Although to tears of blood your heart be grieved? None save Armenians feel Armenia's woes ; Why are you still deceived? Rest not upon the foreigner your hope ; Show not hard eyes your wounds, your deep distress. Do you then look for sympathy and help? They mock your nakedness ! Heavy your burden is, but do you think That foreign hands will lift it? You are wrong. Nay, leave the foreigner, lend brother's arm To brother, and be strong ! Fate is your enemy ? Be not dismayed. But show Armenian hearts, to brave her hate. Fate cannot vanquish an heroic land That battles against fate. 5^ ARMENIAN POEMS. Nor swords nor chains could crush the minds and hearts Of your great ancestors, those vahant ones. Why are your hearts to-day so weak and faint? Are you not heroes' sons ? Sons of those matchless heroes who of old Upon their country's altar bled and died, — Sons of those great Armenians whose lives To-day are the world's pride ? Even the mighty nations of the earth With envy view our nation's history ; Then why, forgetting your past glory, say To aliens, " Blest are ye"? Forward ! Let him who has an earnest heart Forsake the stranger, follow his brave sires ! The life of all Amenians centres round Our faith's clear altar-fires. Armenia's life shall not become extinct ; The heavens are full of that life-giving flame. While the all-conquering cross of Christ shall reign, So long shall live her name. Why are you fearful ? See you not, sublime Above your heads, the shadow of the rood? Of old your fathers with that sacred sign Mingled their sacred blood. Anchor your hope, too, on the cross ! Have faith The light will shine, since you to it are true. It was your nation's bulwark ; be it still Weapon and flag to you ! LET US LIE ARMENIANS. A nation that was faithful to the cross Cannot be lost, though centuries roll past. While in this world religion shall endure, Her life shall also last. In the great names of faith and fatherland. Clasp hands in love, bid hate and malice flee, Armenian brothers ! Let the nation's foe Alone accursM be. Let each heart glow with love for fatherland, Each mind your country's welfare seek alone ; Let your least brother's pain and tears be felt As keenly as your own. Ah ! foreign bread can never nourish us, And foreign water never quench our thirst ; Thou art our life, Armenian font, where we Received baptism first ! For no vain hope let us deny that font. Our nation's baptistery ! When we yield Our breath forever, be our place of death The sacred battlefield ! Let the same earth receive that cradled us ; Armenians we, when life to us was given ; Armenians let us live, Armenians die, Armenians enter heaven ! ^^^ 57 58 ARMENIAN POEMS. THE FIRST GREEN LEAVES. CARCE are the clouds' black shadows Pierced by a gleam of light, Scarce have our fields grown dark again, Freed from the snow-drifts white, When you, with smiles all twinkling, Bud forth o'er hill and vale. O first-born leaves of spring-time, Hail to your beauty, hail I Not yet to our cold meadows Had come Spring's guest, the swallow, Not yet the nightingale's sweet voice Had echoed from the hollow. When you, Uke joy's bright angels, Came swift to hill and dale. Fresh-budded leaves of spring-time, Hail to your beauty, hail i Your tender verdant color. Thin stems and graceful guise. How sweetly do they quench the thirst Of eager, longing eyes ! Afflicted souls at sight of you Take comfort and grow gay. New-budded leaves of spring-time. All hail to you to-day ! THE FIRST GREEN LEAVES. Come, in the dark breast of our dales To shine, the hills between ! Come, o'er our bare and shivering trees To cast a veil of green ! Come, to give sad-faced Nature An aspect blithe and new ! O earliest leaves of spring-time, All hail, all hail to you ! Come to call up, for new-born Spring, A dawn of roses fair ! Come, and invite the breezes light To play with your soft hair ! Say to the fragrant blossoms, " Oh, haste ! Men long for you ! " Hail, earliest leaves of spring- time. Young leaves so fresh and new! Come, come, O leaves, and with sweet wings Of hope from yonder sky Cover the sad earth of the graves Wherein our dear ones lie ! Weave o'er the bones so dear to us A garland wet with dew. Ye wings of hope's bright angels, Young leaves so fresh and new ! 59 6o ARMENIAN POEMS. DEATH OF A YOUTH OF ZEITOUN. MuGURDlTCH Beshiktashlian, a Roman Catholic Arme- nian, was born in 1829; was educated at the Mechitarist Con- vent in Venice, and was for years a professor of the Armenian language in Constantinople. In addition to his original works, he translated into Armenian many poems from other lan- guages. It is not certain whether " A Brave Son of Armenia " is an adaptation from one of Victor Hugo's " Oriental Poems," or whether Hugo, who was an admirer of Armenian poetry, adapted it from the Armenian. Beshiktashlian died in 186S. On his gravestone are carved the lines that form the refrain of one of his most popular songs : — *' What sound, beneath the stars aflame, So lovely as a brother's name ? " HOM dost thou seek, sweet mother? Come, tremble not, draw near ! Gaze on thy son's blood-streaming wounds Without a sigh or tear. Let Turkish mothers rend their hair ; Do thou glad news to Zeitoun bear ! As, by my cradle, thou didst soothe With tender hand and smile My childish form to sleep, and sing With angel voice the while. Lay me to rest, without a care. And joyful news to Zeitoun bear 1 DEATH OF A YOUTH OF ZEITOUN. 6 1 Red floods are welling from my wounds, But, mother, look around ; See how the fierce blood-thirsty Turks By thousands strew the ground ! Our swords devoured them, scattered there ; Then joyful news to Zeitoun bear ! They smote us like a dragon, With sudden roaring deep ; But Zeitoun shook her rocky head. And rolled them down the steep. Red was the stain our rocks did wear ; Then joyful news to Zeitoun bear ! Our fathers' ghosts applauded ; Our old fire is not dead ! Our slaughtered kin rejoiced to see The blood of vengeance shed. Mount Ararat the joy did share ; Mother, glad news to Zeitoun bear ! Take my last kiss, my mother. And bear it to my love ; A kiss, too, for my native soil. That now my tomb must prove. Plant thou a cross above me there. And joyful news to Zeitoun bear ! «S?