Armenian Legends and Poems 11

Armenian Legends and Poems 11

“Oh, in what corner have they buried thee?

How shall I e’er forget thy tenderness?

My heart and soul are wounded grievously,

All flowers are dead—this place a wilderness.

 

“The Psalmist’s words are now fulfilled in me;

Mournful I go, and like a pelican

About the wilderness roam hopelessly,

Or like an owl the sandy desert scan.”

 

The gardener then with soothing words drew near,

“Weep not, she will return, O Nightingale.

The Violet, her forerunner, is here,

And brings thee messages and words of hail.”

 

Then he rejoiced and blessed the gardener,

“May’st thou in peace upon this earth abide,

Thy garden flourish with its bright allure,

Its circling walls renew their former pride.

 

“May all thy plants grow verdant once again,

And gently sway about upon the breeze,

May they receive fresh brightness from the rain,

And waft sweet perfume human hearts to please!”

 

 

Then did the Nightingale write a letter unto the Rose who collected all

the Flowers and caused it to be read in their presence.

 

 

They took the letter to the Rose’s Court,

Where Hazrevart, her minister austere,

Stood on his feet with stately mien and port

And read it out for all the flowers to hear:—

 

“I greet thee, O beloved of my heart,

And fain would hear concerning this thy rape.

I trust through God’s protecting care thou art

Perfect in health, as faultless in thy shape.

 

“For which with outstretched hands I ever pray,

And beg that length of days be granted thee;

All flowers bend to thee and homage pay,

Thou rulest them in all thy majesty.

 

“Thy hue is beautiful, thy perfume sweet,

Each morn thou shinest brighter than the sun.

Happy the day when thee once more I meet,—

For thou art full of grace, my spotless one.

 

“Apart from thee, in humble reverence,

I worship thee, and pray for thy return.

I have no sleep at night for this suspense,

Now Spring is here I ever weep and mourn.

 

“The icy winter passed—I lived it through,

Still suffering many things because of thee;

They mocked at me, and said thou wast not true—

My Rose had no more love or care for me.”

 

Then sent the Rose unto the Nightingale,

And said: “Behold, I send him many flowers.

And they shall cover mountain, hill, and dale,

My Nightingale shall dwell within those bowers.

 

“I cannot there return immediately;

A little he must wait, in patient wise:

But if his love is perfectly with me,

Tell him to look for it in Paradise.”

 

The Nightingale rejoiced on hearing this

And said: “The beauteous Rose shall then return!

What tidings wonderful of untold bliss!

For all the world her ransom could not earn.”

 

And when the sun into the Ram had passed,

The thunder rolled, the storm-clouds broke in showers;

Myriads of blossoms o’er the earth were cast:—

He sought the Rose—she was not of those flowers.

 

Until one morn he saw her foliage green,

Lovely and fresh as it had been before:

The Rose was hidden in a silken screen

And every flower worshipped her once more.

 

The Nightingale beheld and said: “Thank Heaven!

Blessing and praise from every mouth be breathed;

To Heaven’s King be endless glory given—

For in her bud I saw the Rose ensheathed!”

 

Foolish Aghtamartzi, beware this bane,

For this world’s love is ever linked with thorn;

A little while ’tis gladness, then ’tis pain—

What boots the joy which needs must make us mourn?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE ARRIVAL OF THE CRUSADERS

 

By SAINT NERSES SHNORHALI

 

(1102–1173)

 

 

Once more God hither moves their course;

With countless infantry and horse,

As swell the waves towards the strand,

Fierce and tempestuous, they land.

Like sands that by the ocean lie,

Or like the stars that strew the sky,

They fill the earth where’er they go

And whiten it as wool or snow.

Their voice is like the northern wind,

Driving the storm-cloud from behind.

They clear the land from end to end,

The unbelievers forth they send,

Redeeming from such hopeless plight

All Christians held within their might.

Now in the churches cold and dark,

Once more shall burn the taper’s spark;

And you, my sons, late forced to flee

To distant lands, afar from me,

Shall now return in chariots fair

Drawn by brave steeds with trappings rare.

And I shall lift mine eyes above

Beholding near me those I love.

My arms about you I shall fold,

Rejoicing with a joy untold;

And my black robes aside will lay

To dress in greens and crimsons gay.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

LIKE AN OCEAN IS THIS WORLD

 

By HOVHANNES ERZINGATZI

 

(Born 1260)

 

 

Like an ocean is this world;

None undrenched may cross that ocean.

My ship too its sails unfurled,

Ere I knew it was in motion.

 

Now we draw towards the land,

And I fear the sea-board yonder:—

Lest the rocks upon the strand

Break and tear our planks asunder.

 

I will pray God that He raise

From the shore a breeze to meet us,—

To disperse this gloomy haze,

That a happy land may greet us.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE ROCK

 

By HOVHANNES HOVHANNESSIAN

 

 

Above the waters, like a hoary giant,

The rock stands up, majestic and defiant.

The little waves, as to and fro they move,