Armenian Legends and Poems 6

Armenian Legends and Poems 6

ARA AND SEMIRAMIS

 

From the History of Armenia, by

 

MOSES OF KHORENE

 

 

For a few years before the death of Ninus, Ara reigned over Armenia

under his Protectorate, and found the same favour in his eyes as his

father Aram had done. But that wanton and lustful woman Semiramis,

having heard speak for many years of the beauty of Ara, wished to

possess him; only she ventured not to do anything openly. But after the

death or the escape to Crete of Ninus, as it hath been affirmed unto

me, she discovered her passion freely, and sent messengers to Ara the

Beautiful with gifts and offerings, with many prayers and promises of

riches; begging him to come to her to Nineveh and either wed her and

reign over all that Ninus had possessed, or fulfil her desires and

return in peace to Armenia, with many gifts.

 

And when the messengers had been and returned many times and Ara had

not consented, Semiramis became very wroth; and she arose and took all

the multitude of her hosts and hastened to the land of Armenia, against

Ara. But, as she had beforehand declared, it was not so much to kill

him and persecute him that she went, as to subdue him and bring him by

force to fulfil the desires of her passion. For having been consumed

with desire by what she had heard of him, on seeing him she became as

one beside herself. She arrived in this turmoil at the plains of Ara,

called after him Aïrarat. And when the battle was about to take place

she commanded her generals to devise some means of saving the life of

Ara. But in the fighting the army of Ara was beaten, and Ara died,

being slain by the warriors of Semiramis. And after the battle the

Queen sent out to the battlefield to search for the body of her beloved

amongst those who had died. And they found the body of Ara amongst the

brave ones that had fallen, and she commanded them to place it in an

upper chamber in her castle.

 

But when the hosts of Armenia arose once more against Queen Semiramis

to avenge the death of Ara, she said: “I have commanded the gods to

lick his wounds, and he shall live again.” At the same time she

thought to bring Ara back to life by witchcraft and charms, for she was

maddened by the intensity of her desires. But when the body began to

decay, she commanded them to cast it into a deep pit, and to cover it.

And having dressed up one of her men in secret, she sent forth the fame

of him thus: “The gods have licked Ara and have brought him back to

life again, thus fulfilling our prayers and our pleasure. Therefore

from this time forth shall they be the more glorified and worshipped by

us, for that they are the givers of joy and the fulfillers of

desire.” She also erected a new statue in honour of the gods and

worshipped it with many sacrifices, showing unto all as if the gods had

brought Ara back to life again. And having caused this report to be

spread over all the land of Armenia and satisfied the people she put an

end to the fighting. And she took the son of Ara whom his beloved wife

Nouvart had borne unto him and who was but twelve years old at the time

of his father’s death. And she called his name Ara in memory of her

love for Ara the Beautiful, and appointed him ruler over the land of

Armenia, trusting him in all things.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

LAMENT OVER THE HEROES FALLEN IN THE BATTLE OF AVARAIR

 

By KAREKIN SRVANSTIAN

 

(1840–1892)

 

 

If Goghtan’s bards no longer crown

Armenia’s heroes with their lays,

Let deathless souls from Heaven come down,

Our valiant ones to praise!

 

Ye shining angel hosts, descend:

On Ararat’s white summit pause;

Let God Himself the heavens rend,

To come and judge our cause.

 

Fly, clouds, from Shavarshan away,

Pour not on it your gentle rain:—

’Tis drenched with streams of blood to-day

Shed by our brave ones slain.

 

Henceforth the rose and asphodel

No more shall on our plains appear;

But in the land where Vartan fell

Shall Faith her blossoms rear.

 

Fit monument to Vartan’s name,

Mount Ararat soars to the sky.

And Cross-crowned convents tell his fame,

And churches vast and high.

 

Thy record too shall ever stand,

O Eghishé, for where they fell,

Thou forthwith camest, pen in hand,

Their faith and death to tell.

 

Bright sun, pierce with thy rays the gloom,

Where Khaghdik’s crags thy light repel,

There lies our brave Hmayag’s tomb,—

There, where he martyred fell.

 

And, moon, thy sleepless vigil keep

O’er our Armenian martyrs’ bones;

With the soft dews of Maytime steep

Their nameless funeral stones.

 

Armenia’s Stork, our summer guest,

And all ye hawks and eagles, come,

Watch o’er this land—’tis our bequest—

We leave to you our home.

 

About the ashes hover still,

Your nests among the ruins make;

And, swallows, come and go until

Spring for Armenia break!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE SONG OF THE STORK

 

FOLK SONG

 

 

Stork, I welcome thy return.

Thou stork, I welcome thy return.

Thy coming is the sign of spring,

And thou dost joy and gladness bring.

 

Stork, upon our roof descend.

Thou stork, upon our roof descend.

Upon our ash-tree build thy nest,

Our dear one, and our honoured guest.

 

Stork, I would complain to thee:—

Yes, stork, I would complain to thee.

A thousand sorrows I would tell,

The griefs that in my bosom dwell.

 

Stork, when thou our house didst leave,—

When last our ash-tree thou didst leave,

Cold, blasting winds the heavens filled,

And all our smiling flowers were killed.

 

Clouds obscured the brilliant sky;

Dark clouds obscured the brilliant sky.

Up there in flakes they broke the snow,

And Winter killed the flowers below.

 

From the mountain of Varag,

From that great hill they call Varag,

The snow did all the earth enfold:—

In our green meadow it was cold.

 

In our garden all was white.

Our little garden all was white.

Our tender rose-trees, fresh and green,

All died of Winter’s frost-bite keen.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

YE MOUNTAIN BLUEBELLS

 

By AVETIS ISAHAKIAN

 

 

Ye mountain bluebells, weep with me,

And flowers in coloured crowds;

Weep, nightingale, on yonder tree,—

Cool winds dropped from the clouds.

 

All dark around the earth and sky,

All lonely here I mourn.

My love is gone,—