{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_54036/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_54036","id":"gutenberg_54036","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/54036","summary":null,"tags":["Armenian literature","Armenian literature -- History and criticism","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Poetry"],"text":"ARMENIAN LEGENDS AND POEMS\n\n                             ILLUSTRATED & COMPILED\n\n                                       by\n\n                              ZABELLE C. BOYAJIAN\n\n\n\n          WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY THE RIGHT HON. VISCOUNT BRYCE, O.M.\n\n                                      AND\n\n        A CONTRIBUTION ON \u201cARMENIA: ITS EPICS, FOLK-SONGS, AND MEDIAEVAL\n                                    POETRY,\u201d\n\n                                 By ARAM RAFFI\n\n\n\n                         LONDON: J. M. DENT & SONS LTD.\n                        NEW YORK: E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n    Miss Boyajian is giving all the profits of this edition to the Lord\n    Mayor\u2019s Armenian Fund\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                                   Dedicated\n\n                                       TO\n\n                         THE UNDYING SPIRIT OF ARMENIA\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nIn preparing this book of Armenian Legends and Poems my principal\nobject was to publish it as a Memorial to an unhappy nation.\n\nThe book does not claim to represent Armenian poetry adequately. Many\ngifted and well-known authors have been omitted, partly from\nconsiderations of space, and partly because of the scope of the work.\nFor instance, I should have liked to include some of the Sharakans\n(rows of gems) of Nerses Shnorhali; but the impossibility of\nreproducing their characteristic forms in another language, and doing\nthem any justice, made me decide not to translate any of them. I have\nonly given a few typical legends and poems, endeavouring, as far as\npossible, to convey the local colouring by adhering closely to the\nform, rhythm, and imagery of the originals in my translations. I have\nalso largely based the decorative scheme of the illustrations upon\nAncient Armenian Art as we see it in medi\u00e6val missals and\nilluminations.\n\nShould this anthology create an interest in Armenian literature the\nArmenian Muses have still many treasures in their keeping which cannot\nbe destroyed; and another volume could be compiled.\n\nIn conclusion, I wish to express my sincerest gratitude to Miss Alice\nStone Blackwell, of Boston, U.S.A.\u2014one of Armenia\u2019s truest\nfriends\u2014for allowing me to reprint several of her renderings of\nArmenian poems; to G. C. Macaulay, M.A., and the Delegates of the\nOxford University Press, for permission to reprint the \u201cTale of\nRosiphelee\u201d from their edition of Gower\u2019s Confessio Amantis; to Mr.\nWilliam Watson and Mr. John Lane for permission to reprint the sonnet\non Armenia, \u201cA Trial of Orthodoxy,\u201d from The Purple East; and to\nthe heirs of Vittoria Aganoor Pompilj for permitting me to reprint two\nof her poems, \u201cPasqua Armena\u201d and \u201cIo Vidi,\u201d from the Nuova\nAntologia. I wish also to thank Mr. M. E. Galoustiantz for designing\nthe cover of this book.\n\nThe proceeds of the present edition will be handed over to the Armenian\nFund.\n\n\n    ZABELLE C. BOYAJIAN.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\nSevered for many centuries from Western Europe by the flood of Turkish\nbarbarism which descended upon their country in the Middle Ages, and\nsubjected for the last two generations to oppressions and cruelties\nsuch as few civilised people have ever had to undergo, the Armenians\nhave been less known to Englishmen and Frenchmen than their remarkable\nqualities and their romantic history deserve. Few among us have\nacquired their language, one of the most ancient forms of human speech\nthat possess a literature. Still fewer have studied their art or read\ntheir poetry even in translations. There is, therefore, an ample field\nfor a book which shall present to those Englishmen and Frenchmen, whose\ninterest in Armenia has been awakened by the sufferings to which its\nlove of freedom and its loyalty to its Christian faith have exposed it,\nsome account of Armenian art and Armenian poetical literature. Miss\nBoyajian, the authoress of this book, is the daughter of an Armenian\nclergyman, whom I knew and respected during the many years when he was\nBritish Vice-Consul at Diarbekir on the Tigris. She is herself a\npainter, a member of that group of Armenian artists some of whom have,\nlike A\u00efvazovsky and Edgar Chahine, won fame in the world at large, and\nshe is well qualified to describe with knowledge as well as with\nsympathy the art of her own people.\n\nThat art has been, since the nation embraced Christianity in the fourth\ncentury of our era, chiefly ecclesiastical. The finest examples of\nancient Armenian architecture are to be seen in the ruins of Ani, on\nthe border where Russian and Turkish territory meet, a city which was\nonce the seat of one of the native dynasties, while the famous church\nof the monastery of Etchmiadzin, at Vagarshabad, near Erivan, is,\nthough more modern, a perfect and beautiful existing representative of\nthe old type. Etchmiadzin, standing at the north foot of Mount Ararat,\nis the seat of the Katholikos, or ecclesiastical head of the whole\nArmenian church. There was little or no ecclesiastical sculpture, for\nthe Armenian church discouraged the use of images, and fresco painting\nwas not much used for the decoration of churches; missals, however, and\nother books of devotion and manuscripts of the Bible were illuminated\nwith hand paintings, and adorned with miniatures; and much skill and\ntaste were shown in embroideries. Metal work, especially in silver and\nin copper, has always been a favourite vehicle for artistic design in\nthe Near East and is so still, though like everything else it has\nsuffered from the destruction, in repeated massacres, of many of the\nmost highly skilled artificers.\n\nOne of the most interesting features in the history of Armenian art is\nthat it displays in its successive stages the various influences to\nwhich the country has been subject. Ever since it became Christian it\nwas a territory fought for by diverse empires of diverse creeds. As in\nprimitive times it lay between Assyria on the one side and the Hittite\npower on the other, so after the appearance of Islam it became the\nfrontier on which the East Roman Christian Empire contended with the\nMuslim Arab and Turkish monarchies. Persian influences on the East,\nboth before and after Persia had become Mohammedan, here met with the\nRoman influences spreading out from Constantinople. The latter gave the\narchitectural style, as we see it in those ecclesiastical buildings to\nwhich I have referred, a style developed here with admirable features\nof its own and one which has held its ground to the present day. The\ninfluence of Persia on the other hand was seen in the designs used in\nembroidery, in carpets, and in metal work. The new school of painters\nhas struck out new lines for itself, but while profiting by whatever it\nhas learnt from Europe, it retains a measure of distinctive national\nquality.\n\nThat quality is also visible in Armenian poetry of which this volume\ngives some interesting specimens. The poetry of a people which has\nstruggled against so many terrible misfortunes has naturally a\nmelancholy strain. But it is also full of an unextinguishable\npatriotism.\n\nThose who have learnt from this book what the Armenian race has shown\nitself capable of doing in the fields of art and literature, and who\nhave learnt from history how true it has been to its Christian faith,\nand how tenacious of its national life, will hope that the time has now\nat last come when it will be delivered from the load of brutal tyranny\nthat has so long cramped its energies, and allowed to take its place\namong the free and progressive peoples of the world. It is the only one\nof the native races of Western Asia that is capable of restoring\nproductive industry and assured prosperity to these now desolated\nregions that were the earliest homes of civilisation.\n\n\n    BRYCE.\n\n                                                    3, Buckingham Gate,\n                                                    July 1916.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n\u00a0                                                       PAGE\n\n    Preface                                              vii\n    Introduction                                          ix\n\n    Reproaches                                            xv\n    A Trial of Orthodoxy                                 xvi\n\n    The Exile\u2019s Song                                       1\n    The Apple Tree                                         3\n    My Heart is turned into a Wailing Child                4\n    O Night, be long                                       5\n    Black Eyes                                             6\n    Yesternight I walked Abroad                            7\n    Vahagn, King of Armenia                               10\n    Huntsman, that on the Hills above                     11\n    Liberty                                               12\n    I beheld my Love this Morning                         14\n    The Fox, the Wolf, and the Bear                       15\n    Incense                                               17\n    The Little Lake                                       18\n    Spring                                                20\n    Cradle Song                                           21\n    Ara and Semiramis                                     23\n    Lament over the Heroes fallen in the\n        Battle of Avarair                                 25\n    The Song of the Stork                                 27\n    Ye Mountain Bluebells                                 29\n    The Sun went down                                     30\n    Birthday Song                                         31\n    Morning                                               32\n    The Founding of Van                                   33\n    I have a Word I fain would say                        35\n    The Song of the Partridge                             36\n    The Lily of Shavarshan                                37\n    Cradle Song                                           41\n    The Wind is howling through the Winter Night          42\n    The Armenian Poet\u2019s Prayer                            43\n    The Chragan Palace                                    44\n    The Dream                                             46\n    The Sorrows of Armenia                                47\n    Artashes and Satenik                                  48\n    My Death                                              50\n    The Eagle\u2019s Love                                      51\n    Concerning the Rose and the Nightingale               52\n    The Arrival of the Crusaders                          58\n    Like an Ocean is this World                           59\n    The Rock                                              60\n    The Crane                                             62\n    The Hawk and the Dove                                 63\n    Artavasd                                              65\n    Charm Verses                                          67\n    The Tears of Araxes                                   69\n    The Eve of Ascension Day                              73\n    \u201cThy Voice is Sweet\u201d                                  74\n    Christ and Abgarus                                    75\n    Araxes came devouringly                               77\n    The Parrot\u2019s Song                                     78\n    Earth and Sky                                         79\n    O\u2019er the Mountains High he went                       81\n    Complaints                                            82\n    A Day After                                           84\n    Without Thee what are Song and Dance to Me?           85\n    The Lake of Van                                       86\n    Spring                                                89\n    The Fox                                               90\n    The Tale of Rosiphelee                                91\n    The Song of the Vulture                               98\n    Dance Song                                           101\n    Ballad                                               103\n    No Bird can reach the Mountain\u2019s Crest               106\n    The Nightingale of Avarair                           108\n    Thou art so Sweet                                    110\n    The Wandering Armenian to the Swallow                111\n    The Christ-Child                                     113\n    The Castle of Anoush                                 114\n    Happiness                                            118\n    Concerning Death                                     119\n    Love One Another                                     121\n    Pasqua Armena                                        122\n    \u201cIo Vidi\u201d                                            123\n    Armenia: its Epics, Folk-Songs, and Mediaeval Poetry 125\n\n    Chronological Index to Authors                       193\n    Index to First Lines                                 195\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\n    Armenia                                     Frontispiece\n    The Birth of Vahagn, King of Armenia      facing page 10\n    Ara and Semiramis                                     23\n    The Founding of Van                                   33\n    Artashes and Satenik                                  48\n    The Wedding                                           49\n    Artavasd                                              65\n    Christ\u2019s Letter to Abgarus                            75\n    The Lake of Van                                       86\n    The Vision of Rosiphelee, Princess of Armenia         91\n    The Lady and the Minstrel                             102\n    The Castle of Anoush                                  114\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nREPROACHES\n\nBy \u201cFRIK\u201d\n\n(Died 1330)\n\n\n    O God of righteousness and truth,\n    Loving to all, and full of ruth;\n    I have some matter for Thine ear\n    If Thou wilt but Thy servant hear.\n\n    Lo, how the world afflicteth us\n    With wrongs and torments rancorous;\n    And Thou dost pardon every one,\n    But turnest from our woes alone.\n\n    Lord, Thou wilt not avenge our wrong\n    Nor chase the ills that round us throng;\n    Thou knowest, we are flesh and bone,\n    We are not statues made from stone!\n\n    We are not made of grass or reeds,\n    That Thou consumest us like weeds;\u2014\n    As though we were some thorny field\n    Or brushwood, that the forests yield.\n\n    If that ourselves are nothing worth\u2014\n    If we have wrought no good on earth,\n    If we are hateful in Thy sight\n    That Thou shouldst leave us in this plight\u2014\n\n    Then blot us out;\u2014be swift and brief,\n    That Thy pure heart may find relief;\n    This well may be, by Thy intent,\n    Great Lord and good, omnipotent.\n\n    How long must we in patience wait\n    And bear unmurmuringly our fate?\n    Let evil ones be swept away\n    And those whom Thou dost favour, stay!\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nA TRIAL OF ORTHODOXY\n\n(Sonnet on Armenia)\n\nBy WILLIAM WATSON\n\n\n    The clinging children at their mother\u2019s knee\n      Slain; and the sire and kindred one by one\n      Flayed or hewn piecemeal; and things nameless done,\n    Not to be told: while imperturbably\n    The nations gaze, where Rhine unto the sea,\n      Where Seine and Danube, Thames and Tiber run,\n      And where great armies glitter in the sun,\n    And great Kings rule, and man is boasted free!\n      What wonder if yon torn and naked throng\n    Should doubt a Heaven that seems to wink and nod,\n      And having mourned at noontide, \u201cLord, how long?\u201d\n    Should cry, \u201cWhere hidest Thou?\u201d at evenfall,\n    At midnight, \u201cIs He deaf and blind, our God?\u201d\n    And ere day dawn, \u201cIs He indeed at all?\u201d\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE EXILE\u2019S SONG\n\nFOLK SONG\n\n\n    Belov\u00e8d one, for thy sweet sake,\n    By whirlwinds tossed and swayed I roam;\n    The stranger\u2019s accents round me wake\n    These burning thoughts that wander home.\n    No man such longings wild can bear\n    As in my heart forever rise.\n    Oh that the wind might waft me there\n    Where my belov\u00e8d\u2019s vineyard lies!\n    Oh that I were the zephyr fleet,\n    That bends her vines and roses sweet.\n\n    For I am piteous and forlorn,\n    As is the bird that haunts the night;\n    Who inconsolably doth mourn\n    Whene\u2019er his rose is from his sight.\n    O\u2019er earth and ocean, everywhere\n    I gaze in vain, with weary eyes.\n    Oh that the wind might waft me there\n    Where my belov\u00e8d\u2019s vineyard lies!\n    Oh that I were the zephyr fleet\n    That bends her vines and roses sweet.\n    I would I were yon cloud so light,\u2014\n    Yon cloudlet driven before the wind.\n    Or yonder bird with swift-winged flight:\n    My heart\u2019s true way I soon would find!\n    Oh, I would be the wind so fleet\n    That bends her vines and roses sweet.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE APPLE TREE\n\nFOLK SONG\n\n\n    The door of Heaven open seemed\n    And in thy house the sunlight gleamed.\n\n    As through the garden\u2019s willow\u2019d walks I hied\n    Full many a tree and blossom I espied.\n    But of all trees, the Apple Tree most fair\n    And beautiful did unto me appear.\n    It sobbed and wept. Its leaves said murmuringly:\n    \u201cI would that God had ne\u2019er created me!\n    The badge of sin and wickedness I am\n    E\u2019en at thy feast, O Father Abraham. [1]\n    The apple growing on me first\n    From Eden came ere it was cursed,\n    Alas, alas, I am undone!\n    Why fell I to that evil one?\u201d\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nMY HEART IS TURNED INTO A WAILING CHILD\n\nBy N. KOUCHAK\n\n(Fifteenth Century)\n\n\n    My heart is turned into a wailing child,\n    In vain with sweets I seek to still its cries;\n    Sweet love, it calls for thee in sobbings wild\n    All day and night, with longing and with sighs.\n        What solace can I give it?\n\n    I showed my eyes the fair ones of this earth\n    And tried to please them\u2014but I tried in vain.\n    Sweet love, for them all those were nothing worth\u2014\n    Thee\u2014only thee my heart would have again.\n        What solace can I give it?\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nO NIGHT, BE LONG\n\nBy N. KOUCHAK\n\n\n    O Night, be long\u2014long as an endless year!\n    Descend, thick darkness, black and full of fear!\n    To-night my heart\u2019s desire has been fulfilled\u2014\n    My love is here at last\u2014a guest concealed!\n\n    Dawn, stand behind seven mountains\u2014out of sight,\n    Lest thou my loved one banish with thy light;\n    I would for ever thus in darkness rest\n    So I might ever clasp him to my breast.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nBLACK EYES\n\nBy AVETIS ISAHAKIAN\n\n(Born 1875)\n\n\n    Do not trust black eyes, but fear them:\u2014\n    Gloom they are, and endless night;\n    Woes and perils lurking near them\u2014\n    Love not thou their gleaming bright!\n\n    In my heart a sea of blood wells,\n    Called up by their cruel might,\n    No calm ever in that flood dwells\u2014\n    Love not thou their gleaming bright!\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nYESTERNIGHT I WALKED ABROAD\n\nANONYMOUS\n\n\n    Yesternight I walked abroad.\n    From the clouds sweet dews were falling,\n    And my love stood in the road,\n    All in green, and to me calling.\n    To her home she led me straight,\n    Shut and barred the gate securely;\n    Whoso tries to force that gate\n    Brave I\u2019ll reckon him most surely!\n\n    In the garden she did go,\n    Gathered roses dewed with showers;\n    Some she gave her lover, so\n    He might lay his face in flowers.\n\n    Garments loose and snowy breast,\n    I slipped in her bosom tender\n    And I found a moment\u2019s rest,\n    Clasped within those arms so slender.\n    Then I raised my hands above\u2014\n    Grant, O Lord, that I wake never;\n    On the bosom of my love\n    May I live and die forever!\n\n    What have I from this world gained?\n    What advantage gathered ever?\n    For the hunt my falcon trained\n    I let fly\u2014it went forever!\n\n    Ah, my falcon, woe the day!\n    Tell me, whither art thou flying?\n    I will follow all the way\u2014\n    Since thou wentest I am dying.\n\n    I am ill, and near my end\u2014\n    With an apple [2] hasten to me.\n    I shall curse thee if thou send\n    Strange physicians to undo me.\n\n    No physicians strange for me\u2014\n    All my griefs in thee I centre.\n    Come and take my bosom\u2019s key,\n    Open wide the door and enter.\n    Once again I say, \u2019twas not\n    I that came\u2014\u2019twas thy love brought me.\n    In my heart thy love hath got\n    And its dwelling-place hath wrought me.\n\n    When the falcon hunger feels\n    Then he finds the game and takes it;\n    When love thirsts, the lover steals\n    Kisses from his love and slakes it.\n    But thou hold\u2019st me with thy charms;\n    When I kiss thee thou dost bind me:\n    \u2019Twas but now I left thine arms,\n    And my looks are turned behind me.\n    I am ever, for thy love,\n    Like the sands in summer, burning:\n    Looking up to heaven above,\n    For one little raindrop yearning.\n\n    I would kiss thy forehead chaste,\n    And thine eyes so brightly gleaming;\n    Fold mine arms about thy waist\u2014\n    Thick with all thy garments seeming.\n\n    Oft and often have I said\n    For my love make garments shining:\n    Of the sun the facing red,\u2014\n    Of the moon cut out the lining;\n    Pad it with yon storm-cloud dark,\n    Sewn with sea weed from the islets:\n    Stars for clasps must bring their spark\u2014\n    Stitch me inside for the eyelets!\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nVAHAGN, KING OF ARMENIA\n\nFrom the History of Armenia, by\n\nMOSES OF KHORENE\n\n(Fifth Century)\n\n\nConcerning the birth of this king the legends say\u2014\n\n\n    \u201cHeaven and earth were in travail,\n    And the crimson waters were in travail.\n    And in the water, the crimson reed\n    Was also in travail.\n    From the mouth of the reed issued smoke,\n    From the mouth of the reed issued flame.\n    And out of the flame sprang the young child.\n    His hair was of fire, a beard had he of flame,\n    And his eyes were suns.\u201d\n\n\nWith our own ears did we hear these words sung to the accompaniment of\nthe harp. They sing, moreover, that he did fight with the dragons, and\novercame them; and some say that his valiant deeds were like unto those\nof Hercules. Others declare that he was a god, and that a great image\nof him stood in the land of Georgia, where it was worshipped with\nsacrifices.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nHUNTSMAN, THAT ON THE HILLS ABOVE\n\nBy AVETIS ISAHAKIAN\n\n\n    \u201cHuntsman, that on the hills above\n    To hunt the deer hast been,\n    Tell me, I pray thee, if my love\u2014\n    My wild deer thou hast seen?\n\n    \u201cHe sought the hills his grief to quell\u2014\n    My darling love, my sun.\n    He wandered out upon the fell,\n    My flower, my only one.\u201d\n\n    \u201cMaiden, I saw your lover true,\n    All girt with red and green.\n    Upon his breast a rose tree grew\n    Where once your kiss had been.\u201d\n\n    \u201cHuntsman, I pray, who is the bride\n    Of my beloved, my sun?\n    Who tends him, watching by his side,\n    My flower, my only one?\u201d\n\n    \u201cMaiden, I saw him with his head\n    Upon a stone at rest.\n    And for his love, a bullet red\n    Into his heart was pressed.\n\n    \u201cThe mountain breeze caressingly\n    Played with his jet-black hair,\n    And blossoms wept unceasingly\n    Your flower, your lover there.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nLIBERTY\n\nBy MIKAEL NALBANDIAN\n\n(1829\u20131866)\n\n\n    When the God of Liberty\n    Formed of earth this mortal frame,\n    Breathed the breath of life in me,\n    And a spirit I became,\n\n    Wrapped within my swaddling bands,\n    Bound and fettered helplessly, [3]\n    I stretched forth my infant hands\n    To embrace sweet Liberty.\n\n    All night long, until the dawn,\n    In my cradle bound I lay;\n    And my sobbing\u2019s ceaseless moan\n    Drove my mother\u2019s sleep away.\n\n    As I begged her, weeping loud,\n    To unbind and set me free;\n    From that very day I vowed\n    I would love thee, Liberty!\n\n    When upon my parents\u2019 ear\n    First my lisping accents fell,\n    And their hearts rejoiced to hear\n    Me my childish wishes tell,\n\n    Then the words that first I spoke\n    Were not \u201cfather, mother dear\u201d:\n    \u201cLiberty!\u201d the accents broke\n    In my infant utterance clear.\n\n    \u201cLiberty!\u201d The voice of Doom\n    Echoed to me from above,\n    \u201cWilt thou swear until the tomb\n    Liberty to serve and love?\n\n    \u201cThorny is the path, and dim;\n    Many trials wait for thee:\n    Far too small this world for him\n    Who doth worship Liberty!\u201d\n\n    \u201cLiberty!\u201d I made reply,\n    \u201cO\u2019er my head let thunders burst,\n    Lightnings flash, and missiles fly\u2014\n    Foes conspire to do their worst;\n\n    \u201cTill I die, or meet my doom,\n    On the shameful gallows-tree,\u2014\n    Till the portals of the tomb,\n    I will shout forth Liberty!\u201d\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nI BEHELD MY LOVE THIS MORNING\n\nBy SAYAT NOVA\n\n(1712\u20131795)\n\n\nI beheld my love this morning, in the garden paths she strayed,\nAll brocaded was the ground with prints her golden pattens made;\nLike the nightingale, I warbled round my rose with wings displayed,\nAnd I wept, my reason faltered, while my heart was sore dismayed.\nGrant, O Lord, that all my foemen to such grief may be betrayed!\n\nLove, with these thy whims and humours thou hast wrecked and ruined me.\nThou hast drunk of love\u2019s own nectar, thy lips speak entrancingly.\nWith those honeyed words how many like me thou hast bound to thee!\nTake the knife and slay me straightway\u2014pass not by me mockingly.\nSince I die of love, \u2018twere better Beauty stabbed and set me free.\n\nFor I have no love beside thee\u2014I would have thee know it well.\nThou for whom e\u2019en death I\u2019d suffer, list to what I have to tell.\nSee thou thwart not thy Creator,\u2014all the past do not dispel:\nAnger not thy Sayat Nova, for when in thy snare he fell\nHe was all bereft of reason by thy whims\u2019 and humours\u2019 spell.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE FOX, THE WOLF, AND THE BEAR\n\nFOLK SONG\n\n\n    The little fox, the wolf and bear made peace;\n    Like kinsfolk all, they bade their warfare cease.\n    The fox they consecrate a hermit now;\u2014\n    False monk, false hermit, false recluse\u2019s vow!\n\n    The little fox a sack found in the street\n    Through which he thrust his head; then shod his feet\n    With iron shoes, and got a staff, I trow\u2014\n    False monk, false hermit, false recluse\u2019s vow!\n\n    The fox has sent the wolf to fetch the bear.\n    \u201cFor him,\u201d he said, \u201cI live this life of care;\n    Yet never hath he sent me aught to eat:\u2014\n    Sore are my knees with walking, sore my feet!\u201d\n\n    At morning dawn forth to the hunt they creep;\n    A ram they catch, a lambkin and a sheep.\n    Holy dispenser is the wolf proclaimed\u2014\n    Unjust dispenser, judge unwisely named!\n\n    He gives the sheep as portion to the bear;\n    The lambkin falls to the poor hermit\u2019s share.\n    \u201cThe ram for me,\u201d he said, \u201cI\u2019m tired and lamed\u201d\u2014\n    Unjust dispenser, judge unwisely named!\n\n    The bear was wroth, and turned him round about,\n    And with one blow the wolf\u2019s two eyes put out.\n    \u201cThat sheep for me, a bear so great and famed?\n    Unjust dispenser, judge unwisely named!\u201d\n\n    The little fox is sore afraid, and sees\n    A trap laid ready with a piece of cheese.\n    \u201cO uncle, see, I\u2019ve built a convent here,\u201d\n    He said, \u201ca place of rest, a place of prayer!\u201d\n\n    The bear stretched out his paw for the repast,\n    The trap upon his neck closed hard and fast.\n    \u201cHelp me, my little nephew, for I fear\n    This is no convent, \u2019tis no house of prayer!\u201d\n\n    The little fox with joy beheld the whole\n    And sang a mass for his great uncle\u2019s soul.\n    \u201cThe wrong thou didst the wolf has brought thee there;\n    It is a house of rest, a house of prayer!\u201d\n\n    O sovereign Justice, much thou pleasest me\u2014\n    Who wrongs another soon shall cease to be.\n    And fasting in the trap must lie the bear,\u2014\n    For \u2019tis a house of rest, a house of prayer!\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nINCENSE\n\nBy ZABELLE ESSAYAN\n\n(Born 1878)\n\n\n    The incense at the altar slowly burns\n    Swayed in the silver censer to and fro;\n    Around the crucifix it coils and turns,\n    The brows of saints it wreathes with misty glow.\n\n    And tremulous petitions, long drawn out,\n    Beneath the lofty arches faint away;\n    To weary eyes the candles round about\n    Heave as they flicker with their pallid ray.\n\n    The sacred columns, grey and mouldering,\n    Support a veil that stirs with voiceless sobs.\n    Beneath it, like the incense smouldering,\n    A woman\u2019s darkened heart in anguish throbs.\n\n    Consumed within the censer now, and burned,\n    The incense through the boundless ether soars.\n    What Matter was to Fragrance sweet is turned\u2014\n    The cleansing fire its purity restores.\n\n    Nor shall that woman\u2019s smouldering heart be freed,\u2014\n    Saved from its cold and adamantine shell,\u2014\n    Till it is melted, tried, and cleansed indeed,\n    Till the pure flames shall all its dross expel!\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE LITTLE LAKE [4]\n\nBy BEDROS TOURIAN\n\n(1852\u20131872)\n\n\n    Why dost thou lie in hushed surprise,\n    Thou little lonely mere?\n    Did some fair woman wistfully\n    Gaze in thy mirror clear?\n\n    Or are thy waters calm and still\n    Admiring the blue sky,\n    Where shining cloudlets, like thy foam,\n    Are drifting softly by?\n\n    Sad little lake, let us be friends!\n    I too am desolate;\n    I too would fain, beneath the sky,\n    In silence meditate.\n\n    As many thoughts are in my mind\n    As wavelets o\u2019er thee roam;\n    As many wounds are in my heart\n    As thou hast flakes of foam.\n\n    But if heaven\u2019s constellations all\n    Should drop into thy breast,\n    Thou still wouldst not be like my soul,\u2014\n    A flame-sea without rest.\n\n    There, when the air and thou are calm,\n    The clouds let fall no showers;\n    The stars that rise there do not set,\n    And fadeless are the flowers.\n\n    Thou art my queen, O little lake!\n    For e\u2019en when ripples thrill\n    Thy surface, in thy quivering depths\n    Thou hold\u2019st me, trembling, still.\n\n    Full many have rejected me:\n    \u201cWhat has he but his lyre?\u201d\n    \u201cHe trembles, and his face is pale;\n    His life must soon expire!\u201d\n\n    None said, \u201cPoor child, why pines he thus?\n    If he beloved should be,\n    Haply he might not die, but live,\u2014\n    Live, and grow fair to see.\u201d\n\n    None sought the boy\u2019s sad heart to read,\n    Nor in its depths to look.\n    They would have found it was a fire,\n    And not a printed book!\n\n    Nay, ashes now! a memory!\n    Grow stormy, little mere,\n    For a despairing man has gazed\n    Into thy waters clear!\n\n\n                Translated by Alice Stone Blackwell.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nSPRING\n\nBy HOVHANNES HOVHANNESSIAN\n\n(Born 1869)\n\n\n    None await thy smiling rays;\n    Whither comest thou, O Spring?\n    None are left to sing thy praise\u2014\n    Vain thy coming now, O Spring!\n\n    All the world is wrapped in gloom,\n    Earth in blood is weltering:\n    This year brought us blackest doom\u2014\n    Whither comest thou, O Spring?\n\n    No rose for the nightingale,\n    No flower within park or dale,\n    Every face with anguish pale\u2014\n    Whither comest thou, O Spring?\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCRADLE SONG\n\nBy RAPHAEL PATKANIAN\n\n(1830\u20131892)\n\n\nMother\n\n    Sweet slumber now creeps o\u2019er thee slow,\n    Sweet breezes rock thee to and fro:\n    My baby sleeps, so soft and low\n    With sweetest songs I\u2019ll sing oror. [5]\n\n\nBaby\n\n    O Mother dear, thou art unkind\n    My sleepless eyes so long to bind. [6]\n    Anon I\u2019ll rest, and sleep resigned;\u2014\n    Release me now, sing not oror.\n\n\nMother\n\n    Why dost thou shed those tears that flow\n    Down thy sad cheeks with pearly glow?\n    Thou\u2019lt break thy heart with sobbing so,\u2014\n    Whom wilt thou have to sing oror?\n\n\nBaby\n\n    At least my hands and feet unbind\u2014\n    My tender limbs are all confined;\n    That gentle sleep my eyes may find,\n    Then tie me in, and sing oror.\n\n\nMother\n\n    That tongue of thine is passing sweet,\n    Yet with thy yards I cannot mete.\n    Thou wilt not sleep, but at thy feet\n    Wouldst have me sit, and sing oror.\n\n\nBaby\n\n    All piteously I raise my prayer,\n    I sob and cry, thou dost not hear.\n    Thy sweet voice seems to charm thine ear\u2014\n    I weep, thou singest still oror.\n\n\nMother\n\n    Hush, hush, and sleep, my baby dear.\n    My love shall guard thee, year by year,\n    Until my rose-tree blossoms fair,\n    Then \u2018neath his shade I\u2019ll sing oror.\n\n\nBaby\n\n    Thy heart is made of stone, I see.\n    I wept and wept, all uselessly.\n    Now I shall sleep, I can\u2019t be free,\n    All night, all night sing me oror!\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nARA AND SEMIRAMIS\n\nFrom the History of Armenia, by\n\nMOSES OF KHORENE\n\n\nFor a few years before the death of Ninus, Ara reigned over Armenia\nunder his Protectorate, and found the same favour in his eyes as his\nfather Aram had done. But that wanton and lustful woman Semiramis,\nhaving heard speak for many years of the beauty of Ara, wished to\npossess him; only she ventured not to do anything openly. But after the\ndeath or the escape to Crete of Ninus, as it hath been affirmed unto\nme, she discovered her passion freely, and sent messengers to Ara the\nBeautiful with gifts and offerings, with many prayers and promises of\nriches; begging him to come to her to Nineveh and either wed her and\nreign over all that Ninus had possessed, or fulfil her desires and\nreturn in peace to Armenia, with many gifts.\n\nAnd when the messengers had been and returned many times and Ara had\nnot consented, Semiramis became very wroth; and she arose and took all\nthe multitude of her hosts and hastened to the land of Armenia, against\nAra. But, as she had beforehand declared, it was not so much to kill\nhim and persecute him that she went, as to subdue him and bring him by\nforce to fulfil the desires of her passion. For having been consumed\nwith desire by what she had heard of him, on seeing him she became as\none beside herself. She arrived in this turmoil at the plains of Ara,\ncalled after him A\u00efrarat. And when the battle was about to take place\nshe commanded her generals to devise some means of saving the life of\nAra. But in the fighting the army of Ara was beaten, and Ara died,\nbeing slain by the warriors of Semiramis. And after the battle the\nQueen sent out to the battlefield to search for the body of her beloved\namongst those who had died. And they found the body of Ara amongst the\nbrave ones that had fallen, and she commanded them to place it in an\nupper chamber in her castle.\n\nBut when the hosts of Armenia arose once more against Queen Semiramis\nto avenge the death of Ara, she said: \u201cI have commanded the gods to\nlick his wounds, and he shall live again.\u201d At the same time she\nthought to bring Ara back to life by witchcraft and charms, for she was\nmaddened by the intensity of her desires. But when the body began to\ndecay, she commanded them to cast it into a deep pit, and to cover it.\nAnd having dressed up one of her men in secret, she sent forth the fame\nof him thus: \u201cThe gods have licked Ara and have brought him back to\nlife again, thus fulfilling our prayers and our pleasure. Therefore\nfrom this time forth shall they be the more glorified and worshipped by\nus, for that they are the givers of joy and the fulfillers of\ndesire.\u201d She also erected a new statue in honour of the gods and\nworshipped it with many sacrifices, showing unto all as if the gods had\nbrought Ara back to life again. And having caused this report to be\nspread over all the land of Armenia and satisfied the people she put an\nend to the fighting. And she took the son of Ara whom his beloved wife\nNouvart had borne unto him and who was but twelve years old at the time\nof his father\u2019s death. And she called his name Ara in memory of her\nlove for Ara the Beautiful, and appointed him ruler over the land of\nArmenia, trusting him in all things.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nLAMENT OVER THE HEROES FALLEN IN THE BATTLE OF AVARAIR\n\nBy KAREKIN SRVANSTIAN\n\n(1840\u20131892)\n\n\n    If Goghtan\u2019s bards no longer crown\n    Armenia\u2019s heroes with their lays,\n    Let deathless souls from Heaven come down,\n    Our valiant ones to praise!\n\n    Ye shining angel hosts, descend:\n    On Ararat\u2019s white summit pause;\n    Let God Himself the heavens rend,\n    To come and judge our cause.\n\n    Fly, clouds, from Shavarshan away,\n    Pour not on it your gentle rain:\u2014\n    \u2019Tis drenched with streams of blood to-day\n    Shed by our brave ones slain.\n\n    Henceforth the rose and asphodel\n    No more shall on our plains appear;\n    But in the land where Vartan fell\n    Shall Faith her blossoms rear.\n\n    Fit monument to Vartan\u2019s name,\n    Mount Ararat soars to the sky.\n    And Cross-crowned convents tell his fame,\n    And churches vast and high.\n\n    Thy record too shall ever stand,\n    O Eghish\u00e9, for where they fell,\n    Thou forthwith camest, pen in hand,\n    Their faith and death to tell.\n\n    Bright sun, pierce with thy rays the gloom,\n    Where Khaghdik\u2019s crags thy light repel,\n    There lies our brave Hmayag\u2019s tomb,\u2014\n    There, where he martyred fell.\n\n    And, moon, thy sleepless vigil keep\n    O\u2019er our Armenian martyrs\u2019 bones;\n    With the soft dews of Maytime steep\n    Their nameless funeral stones.\n\n    Armenia\u2019s Stork, our summer guest,\n    And all ye hawks and eagles, come,\n    Watch o\u2019er this land\u2014\u2019tis our bequest\u2014\n    We leave to you our home.\n\n    About the ashes hover still,\n    Your nests among the ruins make;\n    And, swallows, come and go until\n    Spring for Armenia break!\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE SONG OF THE STORK\n\nFOLK SONG\n\n\n    Stork, I welcome thy return.\n    Thou stork, I welcome thy return.\n    Thy coming is the sign of spring,\n    And thou dost joy and gladness bring.\n\n    Stork, upon our roof descend.\n    Thou stork, upon our roof descend.\n    Upon our ash-tree build thy nest,\n    Our dear one, and our honoured guest.\n\n    Stork, I would complain to thee:\u2014\n    Yes, stork, I would complain to thee.\n    A thousand sorrows I would tell,\n    The griefs that in my bosom dwell.\n\n    Stork, when thou our house didst leave,\u2014\n    When last our ash-tree thou didst leave,\n    Cold, blasting winds the heavens filled,\n    And all our smiling flowers were killed.\n\n    Clouds obscured the brilliant sky;\n    Dark clouds obscured the brilliant sky.\n    Up there in flakes they broke the snow,\n    And Winter killed the flowers below.\n\n    From the mountain of Varag,\n    From that great hill they call Varag,\n    The snow did all the earth enfold:\u2014\n    In our green meadow it was cold.\n\n    In our garden all was white.\n    Our little garden all was white.\n    Our tender rose-trees, fresh and green,\n    All died of Winter\u2019s frost-bite keen.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nYE MOUNTAIN BLUEBELLS\n\nBy AVETIS ISAHAKIAN\n\n\n    Ye mountain bluebells, weep with me,\n    And flowers in coloured crowds;\n    Weep, nightingale, on yonder tree,\u2014\n    Cool winds dropped from the clouds.\n\n    All dark around the earth and sky,\n    All lonely here I mourn.\n    My love is gone,\u2014light of my eye;\n    I sob and weep forlorn.\n\n    Alas, no more he cares for me\u2014\n    He left me unconsoled;\n    He pierced my heart, then cruelly\n    Left me in pain untold.\n\n    Ye mountain bluebells, weep with me,\n    And flowers in coloured crowds;\n    Weep, nightingale, on yonder tree,\u2014\n    Cool winds dropped from the clouds.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE SUN WENT DOWN\n\nBy AVETIS ISAHAKIAN\n\n\n    The sun went down behind the hill,\n    No light was on the lea,\n    The fowls and birds slept calm and still,\n    But sleep came not to me.\n\n    The moon peeped in beneath the eaves,\n    The Balance rose on high,\n    The fresh night-wind that stirred the leaves\n    Spoke to the starry sky.\n\n    Ah, gentle winds and stars of light,\n    Where is my love to-night?\n    Ye painted eyes of heaven so bright,\u2014\n    Saw you my love to-night?\n\n    Day dawned,\u2014unbolted was our door:\u2014\n    The snowflakes whirled like foam,\n    \u2019Tis cloud and storm, the wild winds roar\u2014\n    Why comes my love not home?\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nBIRTHDAY SONG\n\nBy NAHABED KOUCHAK\n\n\n    On the morning of thy birth\n    We were glad but thou wert wailing,\n    See that when thou leav\u2019st the earth\n    Thou art glad and we bewailing.\n\n    Let me speak unto thy heart,\u2014\n    List if thou hast understanding;\n    Keep thyself from fools apart,\n    All their flatteries withstanding.\n\n    For the fool, like fire and heat,\n    Scorcheth everything, and burneth;\n    But the wise, like water sweet,\n    Deserts into gardens turneth.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nMORNING\n\nBy HAROUTUNE TOUMANIAN\n\n\n    Day dawned. Bright tongues of scarlet flame\n    Shot up into the sky,\n    The livid heav\u2019ns blushed, and became\n    A sea of crimson dye.\n\n    The sun his fiery beams unrolled\n    Like strands of coloured thread;\n    Embroidered all the clouds with gold,\n    And blue, and green, and red.\n\n    Then o\u2019er the mountain, full in view,\n    Nature\u2019s great Monarch rose:\n    And from his tent of Royal blue\n    Hurled darts upon his foes.\n\n    Eternal foe of Gloom and Night,\n    On high he raised his arm;\n    His shield of gold, all shining bright,\n    Sheltered the world from harm.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE FOUNDING OF VAN\n\nFrom the History of Armenia, by\n\nMOSES OF KHORENE\n\n\nAnd after these things Semiramis, having remained in the plain called\nA\u00efrarat after Ara, went into the hill country towards the south. For\nit was summer time and she wished to disport herself in the valleys and\nthe flowery plains. And seeing the beauty of the land and the purity of\nthe air, the clearness of the fountains and the murmuring of the\ngliding rivers, she said, \u201cIt is needful that we build for ourselves\na city and palaces in this balmy clime and beautiful country, by the\nside of these pure waters; so that we may spend the fourth part of the\nyear, which is the summer season, with enjoyment in the land of\nArmenia; and the three cool seasons of the year we will spend in\nNineveh.\u201d\n\nAnd passing over many places she came to the eastern shore of the salt\nlake. And on the shore of the lake she saw a long hill lying towards\nthe setting sun. And south of the hill was a wide valley like unto a\nplain, which came down from the eastern flank of the hill unto the\nshore of the lake, spacious and of goodly shape. And the rills of sweet\nwater descending from the mountains ran down the ravines, and meeting\naround the spurs of the hills they hastened to join the river. And\nthere were not a few buildings erected in the valley on the right and\nleft banks of the waters. And she selected a small hill on the eastern\nside.\n\nAfter gazing thence for a while that evil and hard-hearted woman\nSemiramis commanded that twelve thousand unskilled workmen and six\nthousand of her chosen men skilled in all manner of wood, stone,\ncopper, and iron work should be brought from Assyria and all other\nlands to the desired place. And it was done according to her command.\nAnd immediately a great multitude of diverse workmen were brought, and\nof wise and gifted workers in all the arts. And she commanded first to\nmake the dyke of the river, of boulders and great rocks cemented\ntogether with clay, of great width and height; the which it is said\nremains firm until this day, so that in the clefts of these dykes\npirates and exiles do fortify themselves as in the caves of the\nmountains, none being able to wrench even one stone from the dyke. And\nwhen one looked upon the cement it appeared like a torrent of fat. Thus\nhaving taken the dyke round over much ground she brought it unto the\nintended site of the city. There she commanded the multitude of the\nworkers to be divided into diverse sections, placing over each section\na chosen master of the arts. And under such oppression did she keep\nthem that after a few years the wondrous rampart with its gates of\nwrought copper was completed. And she made beautiful buildings in the\ncity, and palaces of different stones decorated with colours, two\nstories and three stories high. For each one she did build\nsummer-houses, separating the various quarters of the town from each\nother by beautiful streets. She built also wondrous baths in the midst\nof the city for the use of the people, and divided the water passing\nthrough the town into two parts, one for watering the fragrant orchards\nand flower-gardens, and the other for the drinking water of the city\nand its surroundings. On the east, north, and south of the city she\nbuilt pleasure houses, and planted orchards with leafy trees that bore\ndiverse kinds of fruit and foliage; she also planted many vines. The\nwhole city she surrounded with stately ramparts, and caused great\nmultitudes to dwell therein.\n\nBut concerning the far end of the city, and the miraculous works that\nwere done there, it surpasseth the power of a man to tell, neither can\nthey be understood by man. For there, surrounded by fortifications, she\ndid construct the Royal Palace, in great mystery. For the entrances\nwere hard, and the passages leading out of it like those of hell.\nConcerning the manner of its making we have never read a true\ndescription, neither do we propose to weave it into our history; but we\nonly say that of all royal works it is, as we have heard, esteemed the\nfirst and greatest. And on the west side of the rock\u2014whereon no man\ncan now make any impression, even with iron\u2014in this adamantine\nsubstance she constructed many temples, bed-chambers, and\ntreasure-houses; and great trenches, so that none knoweth for what\nmanner of things she made these marvellous preparations. And smoothing\nthe face of the rock as one would smooth wax with a pen, she wrote many\ninscriptions thereon; so that even to look at it causeth a man to be\namazed.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nI HAVE A WORD I FAIN WOULD SAY\n\nBy SAYAT NOVA\n\n\nI have a word I fain would say\u2014list patiently, Light of my Eyes;\nA ceaseless longing fills my heart thy face to see, Light of my Eyes.\nHow have I sinned that thou shouldst thus offended be, Light of my Eyes?\nThe world is sated with the world,\u2014I starve for thee, Light of my Eyes.\n\nA sea of blood is in my heart, and tears forever fill my eyes;\nNo salve can heal my wound, the cure in my beloved\u2019s presence lies.\nAll sick of love I lay, and watched her pathway with my longing eyes;\nWhen I was dead she came; \u2019twas but the layer-out who heard her sighs.\n\nFair springtime now is fully here, the meadows gay with leaf and flower;\nThe hill-sides strewn with violets, the nightingale sent to the bower.\nBut why cannot his voice be heard? O thorn-tree, whence thy cruel power?\nThy branches pierced his heart; the rose was mourning left within her tower.\n\nThe scarlet poppy thought to tempt and lure the wandering nightingale,\nWhen he was dreaming of the rose tied round with wisps of basil pale.\nNone pitied him\u2014the rose was plucked by those who first came to the vale.\nAlas, poor nightingale, the hedge has caught and pierced thy body frail!\n\nGod knows my life I count but nought; for thee I\u2019d give it joyfully.\nCome, let us taste of love\u2019s delights, let him that listeth envious be.\nNo wish of thine shall be refused, so but thy face I radiant see.\nIf immortality thou\u2019dst have, my love shall e\u2019en bring that to thee.\n\nAnd if I had a thousand woes no murmur from my lips would rise:\nThou art my Ruler, none beside; no sovereign own I otherwise.\nSayat Nova says, \u201cHeartless one, death is not death for him who dies\nSo thou but mourn him with thy locks spread over him, Light of my Eyes.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE SONG OF THE PARTRIDGE\n\nFOLK SONG\n\n\n    The sun has touched the mountain\u2019s crest,\n    The partridge rises from her nest;\n    And down the hillside tripping fast,\n    Greets all the flowers as she goes past.\n\n    I breakfast on my roof at morn\n    When to my ear her voice is borne\u2014\n    When swinging from the mountain side,\n    She chirps her song in all her pride.\n\n    Thy nest is dewed with summer showers;\n    Basil, narcissus, lotus flowers,\n    Enamel it, and breathe to thee\n    Perfumes of immortality.\n\n    Soft feathers all thy body deck,\n    Small is thy beak, and long thy neck.\n    Thy wings are worked with colours rare,\n    The dove is not so sweet and fair.\n\n    The little partridge flies aloft\n    Upon the branch, and warbles soft;\n    He cheers the world, and heals the smart\n    When seas of blood well in the heart.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE LILY OF SHAVARSHAN\n\nBy LEO ALISHAN\n\n(1820\u20131901)\n\n\n    Armenian maidens, come and view\n    In Shavarshan a lily new!\n\n    The radiant type of maidenhood,\n    Crown of Armenia\u2019s pride!\n    From the fair brow beneath her veil\n    The wind-stirred curls float wide\n    With little steps, like turtle dove,\n    She walks the dew-bright plain;\n    Her lips drop honey, and her eyes\n    Effulgent glances rain.\n\n    The beauty of Armenia,\n    A sun-like mirror clear,\n    Our Northern star is bright Santoukhd,\n    The king\u2019s fair daughter dear.\n    She has come forth, the graceful bride\n    On whom the East and West\n    Desire to look, while fires of love\n    Consume the gazer\u2019s breast.\n\n    Less fair the bright and morning star,\n    \u2019Mid cloudlets small and fine;\n    Less fair the fruit whose rosy tints\n    \u2019Mid apple leaves outshine;\n    Araxes\u2019 hyacinthine flower\n    That chains of dew doth wear,\n    All are less beautiful than she,\n    With gracious mien and air.\n\n    At sight of her, the snowy peaks\n    Melt and are flushed with rose;\n    Trees, flowers bud forth; the nightingales\n    All sing where\u2019er she goes.\n    The bell-flowers open myriad eyes\n    When she comes through the bowers;\n    Beneath her breath, the vales and hills\n    Alike are clad in flowers.\n\n    Before her have been bent to earth\n    Foreheads with diadems;\n    The valley has become a hill\n    Of scattered gold and gems.\n    Where passes by with humble grace\n    Armenia\u2019s virgin sweet,\n    Fine sands of pearls come longingly\n    To spread beneath her feet.\n\n    Full many a monarch\u2019s valiant son\n    Has left his palace home\n    In Persia or Albania,\n    In India or in Rome.\n    Admiringly they gaze on her,\n    Exclaiming, \u201cHappy he\n    Who wins the fair Armenian maid\n    His bride beloved to be!\u201d\n\n    But palace worthy of Santoukhd\n    The earth can nowhere show,\n    And for the arches of her brows\n    This world is all too low.\n\n    The Sky says, \u201cLet her on my throne\n    Reign queen o\u2019er every land.\u201d\n    The Ocean says, \u201cMy purple waves\n    Shall bow to her command.\u201d\n\n    There is One greater than the earth,\n    More wide than sea-waves run,\n    Higher and vaster than the heavens,\n    And brighter than the sun.\n    There is a formidable King\n    Whose power no bound has known;\n    The royal maid Santoukhd shall be\n    For Him, and Him alone.\n    Her halls of light are all prepared,\n    And for a footstool meet\n    The azure sky adorned with stars\n    Awaits her dove-like feet.\n\n    The sharp sword glitters in the air,\n    And swift the red blood flows;\n    Santoukhd, who was a lily fair,\n    Falls to the earth, a rose.\n    The sword flashed once, and aspects three\n    Were in Santoukhd descried;\n    Her heart dropped blood, and roses red\n    Sprang up on every side;\n    Her eyes were violet chalices,\n    Sweet e\u2019en while they expire;\n    Her face, like lilies half unclosed,\n    But on her lips what fire!\n\n    The heaven and earth shine white and red;\n    Come forth and gather, maids,\n\n    The rose and lily joined in one,\n    This peerless flower that fades!\n    Lay in the tomb that youthful corpse,\n    With Thaddeus, good and brave.\n    Sweet maiden of Armenia,\n    Her sweet soil be thy grave!\n    Armenian maids, a lily new\n    Is brought to Shavarshan for you! [7]\n\n\n                    Translated by Alice Stone Blackwell.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCRADLE SONG\n\nBy RAPHAEL PATKANIAN\n\n\n    Nightingale, oh, leave our garden,\n    Where soft dews the blossoms steep;\n    With thy litanies melodious\n    Come and sing my son to sleep!\n    Nay, he sleeps not for thy chanting,\n    And his weeping hath not ceased.\n    Come not, nightingale! My darling\n    Does not wish to be a priest.\n\n    O thou thievish, clever jackdaw,\n    That in coin findest thy joy,\n    With thy tales of gold and profit\n    Come and soothe my wailing boy!\n    Nay, thy chatter does not lull him,\n    And his crying is not stayed.\n    Come not, jackdaw! for my darling\n    Will not choose the merchant\u2019s trade.\n\n    Wild dove, leave the fields and pastures\n    Where thou grievest all day long;\n    Come and bring my boy sweet slumber\n    With thy melancholy song!\n    Still he weeps. Nay, come not hither,\n    Plaintive songster, for I see\n    That he loves not lamentations,\n    And no mourner will he be.\n\n    Leave thy chase, brave-hearted falcon!\n    Haply he thy song would hear.\n    And the boy lay hushed, and slumbered,\n    With the war-notes in his ear.\n\n\n                    Translated by Alice Stone Blackwell.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE WIND IS HOWLING THROUGH THE WINTER NIGHT\n\nBy AVETIS ISAHAKIAN\n\n\n    The wind is howling through the winter night,\n    Like to a pack of angry wolves that cry.\n    My hapless willows bend before its might;\n    Their broken branches in the garden lie.\n\n    Alas, my heart, thy love since childhood\u2019s days\n    Hath wept; thy dream was understood by none.\n    Seek not in vain a friend to know thy ways\u2014\n    The soul is born eternally alone.\n\n    Thou from thy hopeless heart that love shalt cast\u2014\n    That child of earth, false, illegitimate:\n    Shalt fling it to the night and wintry blast\u2014\n    Out in the storm\u2014there let it find its fate.\n\n    There motherless and orphaned let it weep,\n    And let the wind its sobbings onward bear\n    Unto some desert place, or stormy deep\u2014\n    But not where human soul its voice may hear.\n\n    The wind is howling in its agony\n    All through this snow-bound night, with piercing cry;\n    Alas, beneath the broken willow tree\n    My shattered love lies dying\u2014let it die.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE ARMENIAN POET\u2019S PRAYER\n\nBy ALEXANDER DZADOURIAN\n\n(Born 1870)\n\n\n    O God, \u2019tis not for laurel wreaths I pray,\n    For pompous funeral or jubilee;\n    Nor yet for fame beyond my life\u2019s decay\u2014\n    All these my country will accord to me.\n\n    One favour, Lord of Heaven, I implore\u2014\n    One that my land to me will never give:\n    Grant me a crust of bread, or else such store\n    Of grace that I on air may learn to live!\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE CHRAGAN PALACE\n\nBy THOMAS TERZYAN\n\n(1842\u20131909)\n\n\n    Have you ever seen that wondrous building,\n    Whose white shadows in the blue wave sleep?\n    There Carrara sent vast mounds of marble,\n    And Propontis, beauty of the deep.\n\n    From the tombs of centuries awaking,\n    Souls of every clime and every land\n    Have poured forth their rarest gifts and treasures\n    Where those shining halls in glory stand.\n\n    Ships that pass before that stately palace,\n    Gliding by with open sails agleam,\n    In its shadow pause and gaze, astonished,\n    Thinking it some Oriental dream.\n\n    New its form, more wondrous than the Gothic,\n    Than the Doric or Ionic fair;\n    At command of an Armenian genius [8]\n    Did the master builder rear it there.\n\n    By the windows, rich with twisted scroll-work,\n    Rising upward, marble columns shine,\n    And the sunbeams lose their way there, wandering\n    Where a myriad ornaments entwine.\n\n    An immortal smile, its bright reflection\n    In the water of the blue sea lies,\n    And it shames Granada\u2019s famed Alhambra,\n    O\u2019er whose beauty wondering bend the skies.\n\n    Oft at midnight, in the pale, faint starlight,\n    When its airy outline, clear and fair,\n    On the far horizon is depicted,\n    With its trees and groves around it there,\n\n    You can fancy that those stones grow living,\n    And, amid the darkness of the night,\n    Change to lovely songs, to which the spirit,\n    Dreaming, listens with a vague delight.\n\n    Have you ever seen that wondrous building\n    Whose white shadows in the blue wave sleep?\n    There Carrara sent vast mounds of marble,\n    And Propontis, beauty of the deep.\n\n    It is not a mass of earthly matter,\n    Not a work from clay or marble wrought;\n    From the mind of an Armenian genius\n    Stands embodied there a noble thought.\n\n\n                    Translated by Alice Stone Blackwell.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE DREAM\n\nBy SMPAD SHAHAZIZ\n\n(1840\u20131897)\n\n\n    Soft and low a voice breathed o\u2019er me,\n    Near me did my mother seem;\n    Flashed a ray of joy before me,\n    But, alas, it was a dream!\n\n    There the murmuring streamlet flowing\n    Scattered radiant pearls around,\n    Pure and clear, like crystal glowing\u2014\n    But it was a dream, unsound.\n\n    And my mother\u2019s mournful singing\n    Took me back to childhood\u2019s day,\n    To my mind her kisses bringing\u2014\n    \u2019Twas a dream and passed away!\n\n    To her heart she pressed me yearning,\n    Wiped her eyes which wet did seem;\n    And her tears fell on me burning\u2014\n    Why should it have been a dream?\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE SORROWS OF ARMENIA\n\n\n    In many a distant, unknown land,\n    My sons belov\u00e8d exiled roam,\n    Servile they kiss the stranger\u2019s hand;\n    How shall I find and bring them home?\n\n    The ages pass, no tidings come;\n    My brave ones fall, are lost and gone.\n    My blood is chilled, my voice is dumb,\n    And friend or comfort I have none.\n\n    With endless griefs my heart is worn,\n    Eternal sorrow is my doom;\n    Far from my sons, despis\u2019d, forlorn,\n    I must descend the darksome tomb.\n\n    Thou shepherd wandering o\u2019er the hill,\n    Come weep with me my children lost;\n    Let mournful strains the valleys fill\n    For those we loved and valued most.\n\n    Fly, crane, Armenia\u2019s bird, depart;\n    Tell them I die of grief; and tell\n    How hope is dead within my heart\u2014\n    Bear to my sons my last farewell!\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nARTASHES AND SATENIK\n\nFrom the History of Armenia,\n\nby\n\nMOSES OF KHORENE\n\n\nAt this time the Alans united with all the people of the mountain\ncountry, and having taken possession of the half of Georgia, spread\nthemselves in great multitudes over our land. And Artashes collected a\nmighty host together, and there was war between the two great nations.\nThe Alans retreated somewhat, and crossing over the river Kur they\nencamped on its northern bank. And when Artashes arrived, he encamped\non the southern bank, so that the river was between them. But because\nthe son of the King of the Alans was taken captive by the Armenian\nhosts and brought to Artashes, the King of the Alans sought peace,\npromising to give to Artashes whatsoever he should ask. And he swore an\neternal peace unto him, so that the sons of the Alans might not be\ncarried away captive into the land of the Armenians. And when Artashes\nwould not consent to give back the youth, his sister came to the\nriver\u2019s bank and stood upon a great rock. And by means of the\ninterpreters she spoke to the camp of Artashes, saying:\u2014\u201cO brave\nArtashes, who hast vanquished the great nation of the Alans, unto thee\nI speak. Come, hearken unto the bright-eyed daughter of the Alan King,\nand give back the youth. For it is not the way of heroes to destroy\nlife at the root, nor for the sake of humbling and enslaving a hostage\nto establish everlasting enmity between two great nations.\u201d And on\nhearing such wise sayings, Artashes went to the bank of the river. And\nseeing that the maiden was beautiful, and having heard these words of\nwisdom from her, he desired her. And calling Smpad his chamberlain he\ntold him the wishes of his heart, and commanded that he should obtain\nthe maiden for him, swearing unto the great Alan nation oaths of peace,\nand promising to send the youth back in safety. And this appeared wise\nin the eyes of Smpad, and he sent messengers unto the King of the Alans\nasking him to give the lady Satenik his daughter as wife unto Artashes.\nAnd the King of the Alans answered, \u201cFrom whence shall brave Artashes\ngive thousands upon thousands and tens of thousands upon tens of\nthousands unto the Alans in return for the maiden?\u201d\n\nConcerning this the poets of that land sing in their songs:\u2014\n\n\n    \u201cBrave King Artashes\n    Mounted his fine black charger,\n    And took the red leathern cord\n    With the golden ring.\n    Like a swift-winged eagle\n    He passed over the river,\n    And cast the golden ring\n    Round the waist of the Alan Princess;\n    Causing much pain\n    To the tender maiden\n    As he bore her swiftly\n    Back to his camp.\u201d\n\n\nWhich being interpreted meaneth that he was commanded to give much\ngold, leather, and crimson dye in exchange for the maiden. So also they\nsing of the wedding:\u2014\n\n\n    \u201cIt rained showers of gold when Artashes became a bridegroom.\n    It rained pearls when Satenik became a bride.\u201d\n\n\nFor it was the custom of our kings to scatter coins amongst the people\nwhen they arrived at the doors of the temple for their wedding, as also\nfor the queens to scatter pearls in their bridechamber.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nMY DEATH\n\nBy BEDROS TOURIAN\n\n\n    When Death\u2019s pale angel comes to me,\n    And smiling sweetly on my head,\n    Bids all my pains and sorrows flee,\u2014\n    Believe not then that I am dead.\n\n    When my cold limbs they shroud with care,\n    And on my brow love\u2019s tear-drops shed,\n    And lay me on my ebon bier,\u2014\n    Believe not then that I am dead.\n\n    And when the tolling bell shall ring\n    To my black coffin\u2019s muted tread\n    \u2014Death\u2019s fiendish laughter, quivering,\u2014\n    Believe not then that I am dead.\n\n    And when the black-robed priests shall sing,\n    And prayers and incense round me spread,\n    With faces dark and sorrowing\u2014\n    Believe not still that I am dead.\n\n    When on my tomb they heap the clay,\n    And leave me in my lonely bed,\n    And loved ones turn with sobs away\u2014\n    Then never think that I am dead.\n\n    But if my grave neglected lie,\n    My memory too be gone and fled,\n    And dear ones pass unheeding by,\n    Ah, then believe that I am dead!\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE EAGLE\u2019S LOVE\n\nBy SHUSHANIK GOURGHINIAN\n\n(Born 1876)\n\n\n    An eagle sat upon the fell,\u2014\n    He sat and sang alone.\n    A pretty maid passed in the dell,\n    He saw\u2014his heart was won.\n\n    \u201cAh, lovely maid, enchanting maid,\n    Alas, thou canst not fly!\n    Down in the vale thou soon shalt fade,\n    And like a floweret die.\n\n    \u201cI\u2019d make thee queen, if thou could\u2019st fly,\n    Of all my mountains steep;\n    At night I\u2019d sing thy lullaby,\n    And in my wings thou\u2019dst sleep.\n\n    \u201cThose eyes are like black night to me,\n    That smile like sunshine bright;\n    And heaven itself would quickly be\n    Subdued before thy might.\n\n    \u201cGood Lord, canst thou not fly at all?\n    Who made thee without wings?\n    Art thou content down there to crawl\n    With loathsome creeping things?\u201d\n\n    Thus on his rock the eagle proud\n    Sat singing, then he sailed\n    O\u2019er hill and valley, and aloud\n    The maiden\u2019s fate bewailed.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCONCERNING THE ROSE AND THE NIGHTINGALE\n\nBy GRIGORIS OF AGHTAMAR\n\n(Fifteenth Century)\n\n\n    The Rose was gone. When to the empty tent\n    The Nightingale returned, his heart was torn.\n    He filled the night with mourning and lament,\n    And wandered through the darkness lone and lorn.\n\n    \u201cTo thee I speak, O Garden, answer me,\n    Why did\u2019st thou not preserve my precious Rose,\n    Whose perfume breathed of immortality,\n    Whose colour made her queen of all that grows?\n\n    \u201cMay\u2019st thou become a desert parched and dry,\n    And may the flowers that grow within thee fade;\n    May thy protecting walls in ruin lie\u2014\n    By ruthless feet thy soil in waste be laid.\n\n    \u201cYe trees, now cast away your verdant leaves,\n    And rushing torrents, your swift courses stay.\n    Reckless I speak, as one who sorely grieves,\n    For they have taken my sweet love away.\n\n    \u201cMy Rose is gone and I am desolate.\n    Light of my eyes was she, now darkness reigns.\n    Both day and night I weep disconsolate.\n    My reason leaves me, and my spirit wanes.\n\n    \u201cWas it the gardener took her away\n    And grieved my soul? If never more again\n    I should behold her face, what shall I say?\n    Instead of joy, I\u2019ll sing of grief and pain.\n\n    \u201cOr else I fear the mighty wind arose,\n    And blasted with its strength her petals frail;\n    Or did the scorching sunbeams burn my Rose\n    Within her leaves, and turn her beauty pale?...\n\n    \u201cI think perhaps the flowers were wroth with me\n    And hid her from my sight; I\u2019ll go to them.\n    Or else the clouds in cruel enmity\n    Sent hailstones down that broke her from the stem!\u201d\n\n    Then all the flowers together made reply,\n    \u201cWe have no tidings of the Rose at all,\n    She left us suddenly, we know not why.\n    We have no tidings of the Rose at all.\u201d\n\n    The Nightingale then rose into the air,\n    \u201cI\u2019ll ask the birds in friendly wise,\u201d he said,\n    \u201cIf they can tell me why she went, and where;\n    If not, a sea of tears my eyes shall shed.\n\n    \u201cBirds, do you know what came to pass to-day?\n    The lovely Rose was stolen from her home.\n    Know you perchance who carried her away?\n    Have you seen aught, or heard where she doth roam?\u201d\n\n    They said, \u201cThe Lord Creator knoweth all;\n    No secrets of the heart from Him are hid.\n    On Him as witness reverently we call\u2014\n    We have not seen or touched her\u2014God forbid!\u201d\n\n    The Nightingale then sadly made reply,\n    \u201cWhat will become of me? From night to morn\n    I have no rest, and I shall surely die,\n    Parted from her, with ceaseless longings worn.\n\n    \u201cIf in her stead the world to me were given\n    I would esteem it but a paltry thing;\n    If choirs of minstrels sang the songs of heaven,\n    To me their songs as discords harsh would ring.\n\n    \u201cOh, in what corner have they buried thee?\n    How shall I e\u2019er forget thy tenderness?\n    My heart and soul are wounded grievously,\n    All flowers are dead\u2014this place a wilderness.\n\n    \u201cThe Psalmist\u2019s words are now fulfilled in me;\n    Mournful I go, and like a pelican\n    About the wilderness roam hopelessly,\n    Or like an owl the sandy desert scan.\u201d\n\n    The gardener then with soothing words drew near,\n    \u201cWeep not, she will return, O Nightingale.\n    The Violet, her forerunner, is here,\n    And brings thee messages and words of hail.\u201d\n\n    Then he rejoiced and blessed the gardener,\n    \u201cMay\u2019st thou in peace upon this earth abide,\n    Thy garden flourish with its bright allure,\n    Its circling walls renew their former pride.\n\n    \u201cMay all thy plants grow verdant once again,\n    And gently sway about upon the breeze,\n    May they receive fresh brightness from the rain,\n    And waft sweet perfume human hearts to please!\u201d\n\n\nThen did the Nightingale write a letter unto the Rose who collected all\nthe Flowers and caused it to be read in their presence.\n\n\n    They took the letter to the Rose\u2019s Court,\n    Where Hazrevart, her minister austere,\n    Stood on his feet with stately mien and port\n    And read it out for all the flowers to hear:\u2014\n\n    \u201cI greet thee, O beloved of my heart,\n    And fain would hear concerning this thy rape.\n    I trust through God\u2019s protecting care thou art\n    Perfect in health, as faultless in thy shape.\n\n    \u201cFor which with outstretched hands I ever pray,\n    And beg that length of days be granted thee;\n    All flowers bend to thee and homage pay,\n    Thou rulest them in all thy majesty.\n\n    \u201cThy hue is beautiful, thy perfume sweet,\n    Each morn thou shinest brighter than the sun.\n    Happy the day when thee once more I meet,\u2014\n    For thou art full of grace, my spotless one.\n\n    \u201cApart from thee, in humble reverence,\n    I worship thee, and pray for thy return.\n    I have no sleep at night for this suspense,\n    Now Spring is here I ever weep and mourn.\n\n    \u201cThe icy winter passed\u2014I lived it through,\n    Still suffering many things because of thee;\n    They mocked at me, and said thou wast not true\u2014\n    My Rose had no more love or care for me.\u201d\n\n    Then sent the Rose unto the Nightingale,\n    And said: \u201cBehold, I send him many flowers.\n    And they shall cover mountain, hill, and dale,\n    My Nightingale shall dwell within those bowers.\n\n    \u201cI cannot there return immediately;\n    A little he must wait, in patient wise:\n    But if his love is perfectly with me,\n    Tell him to look for it in Paradise.\u201d\n\n    The Nightingale rejoiced on hearing this\n    And said: \u201cThe beauteous Rose shall then return!\n    What tidings wonderful of untold bliss!\n    For all the world her ransom could not earn.\u201d\n\n    And when the sun into the Ram had passed,\n    The thunder rolled, the storm-clouds broke in showers;\n    Myriads of blossoms o\u2019er the earth were cast:\u2014\n    He sought the Rose\u2014she was not of those flowers.\n\n    Until one morn he saw her foliage green,\n    Lovely and fresh as it had been before:\n    The Rose was hidden in a silken screen\n    And every flower worshipped her once more.\n\n    The Nightingale beheld and said: \u201cThank Heaven!\n    Blessing and praise from every mouth be breathed;\n    To Heaven\u2019s King be endless glory given\u2014\n    For in her bud I saw the Rose ensheathed!\u201d\n\n    Foolish Aghtamartzi, beware this bane,\n    For this world\u2019s love is ever linked with thorn;\n    A little while \u2019tis gladness, then \u2019tis pain\u2014\n    What boots the joy which needs must make us mourn?\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE ARRIVAL OF THE CRUSADERS\n\nBy SAINT NERSES SHNORHALI\n\n(1102\u20131173)\n\n\n    Once more God hither moves their course;\n    With countless infantry and horse,\n    As swell the waves towards the strand,\n    Fierce and tempestuous, they land.\n    Like sands that by the ocean lie,\n    Or like the stars that strew the sky,\n    They fill the earth where\u2019er they go\n    And whiten it as wool or snow.\n    Their voice is like the northern wind,\n    Driving the storm-cloud from behind.\n    They clear the land from end to end,\n    The unbelievers forth they send,\n    Redeeming from such hopeless plight\n    All Christians held within their might.\n    Now in the churches cold and dark,\n    Once more shall burn the taper\u2019s spark;\n    And you, my sons, late forced to flee\n    To distant lands, afar from me,\n    Shall now return in chariots fair\n    Drawn by brave steeds with trappings rare.\n    And I shall lift mine eyes above\n    Beholding near me those I love.\n    My arms about you I shall fold,\n    Rejoicing with a joy untold;\n    And my black robes aside will lay\n    To dress in greens and crimsons gay.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nLIKE AN OCEAN IS THIS WORLD\n\nBy HOVHANNES ERZINGATZI\n\n(Born 1260)\n\n\n    Like an ocean is this world;\n    None undrenched may cross that ocean.\n    My ship too its sails unfurled,\n    Ere I knew it was in motion.\n\n    Now we draw towards the land,\n    And I fear the sea-board yonder:\u2014\n    Lest the rocks upon the strand\n    Break and tear our planks asunder.\n\n    I will pray God that He raise\n    From the shore a breeze to meet us,\u2014\n    To disperse this gloomy haze,\n    That a happy land may greet us.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE ROCK\n\nBy HOVHANNES HOVHANNESSIAN\n\n\n    Above the waters, like a hoary giant,\n    The rock stands up, majestic and defiant.\n    The little waves, as to and fro they move,\n    Greet him with kisses and with looks of love.\n\n    The wavelets of the river laugh and dance,\n    As in their arms the mirrored sunbeams glance;\n    And with their smiles of winning, child-like grace,\n    They woo the rock, and murmur in his face:\n\n    \u201cO Aged-One, why art thou never glad?\n    The lines that seam thy countenance are sad.\n    The world is ever changing; thou alone\n    Art still the same with thy dark face of stone.\n\n    \u201cFree children of the mountains ever free,\n    We bring rich gifts of jewels unto thee;\n    Scent thee with perfumes of the mountain rose\u2014\n    Heaven\u2019s daughter fair, that on our margin grows.\n\n    \u201cSweet strains of gentle melody we breathe,\n    And call the fishes from our depths beneath;\n    And gilded with the spring-tide\u2019s golden rays,\n    We make thee on our merry revels gaze.\n\n    \u201cAnd songs of love we warble in thine ear,\n    From morning dawn until the stars appear:\u2014\n    We fondle thee, and on thine aged breast\n    Our passions lull, and bid them sink to rest.\u201d\n\n    The wavelets hasten, moving to and fro,\n    The rock still sorrows o\u2019er his ancient woe;\n    The wavelets play, and laughing onward press\u2014\n    The rock remains, gloomy and motionless.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE CRANE\n\nBy HOVHANNES TOUMANIAN\n\n(Born 1869)\n\n\n    The Crane has lost his way across the heaven,\n    From yonder stormy cloud I hear him cry,\n    A traveller o\u2019er an unknown pathway driven,\n    In a cold world unheeded he doth fly.\n\n    Ah, whither leads this pathway long and dark,\n    My God, where ends it, thus with fears obsessed?\n    When shall night end this day\u2019s last glimmering spark?\n    Where shall my weary feet to-night find rest?\n\n    Farewell, belov\u00e8d bird, where\u2019er thou roam\n    Spring shall return and bring thee back once more,\n    With thy sweet mate and young ones, to thy home\u2014\n    Thy last year\u2019s nest upon the sycamore.\n\n    But I am exiled from my ruined nest,\n    And roam with faltering steps from hill to hill,\n    Like to the fowls of heaven in my unrest\n    Envying the boulders motionless and still.\n\n    Each boulder unassailed stands in its place,\n    But I from mine must wander tempest tossed\u2014\n    And every bird its homeward way can trace,\n    But I must roam in darkness, lone and lost.\n\n    Ah, whither leads this pathway long and dark,\n    My God, where ends it, thus with fears obsessed?\n    When shall night end this day\u2019s last glimmering spark?\n    Where shall my weary feet to-night find rest?\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE HAWK AND THE DOVE\n\nFOLK SONG\n\n\n    The Hawk said to the Dove, \u201cMy dear,\n    Why dost thou shed tear after tear,\n    That go to swell the streamlet clear?\u201d\n    The Dove said to the Hawk, \u201cI fear\n    That spring is gone and autumn\u2019s here;\n    The rills have ceased their glad career,\n    The leaves and flowers are dead and sere,\n    The partridges no more we hear;\n    So I shall weep in my despair,\n    And from my eyes shed many a tear:\u2014\n    How shall I find my babies\u2019 fare?\u201d\n    He said, \u201cWeep not this autumn drear,\n    For spring will come another year,\n    And sunshine bring the world its cheer,\n    And Hope shall for the poor appear.\n    Upon my pinions thee I\u2019ll bear\n    Where those tall trees their summit rear,\n    And high upon those mountains bare\n    I\u2019ll build a nest with tender care,\n    I\u2019ll make for thee a dwelling there,\u2014\n    A hearth laid in that rocky lair,\n    With chimney open to the air;\n    The smoke shall to the clouds repair\u2014\n    And to the South Wind fly our care!\u201d\n    Autumn gave place to springtime fair,\n    The rills were loosed on their career\n    And went to swell the streamlet clear,\n    Like blood-drops from the boulders bare.\n    Bright yellow flowers the hills did wear,\n    And violets, with perfume rare,\n    And flowers of countless colours fair;\n    And birds with music filled the air,\n    And bleating lambs called everywhere\n    To God for all His love and care.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nARTAVASD\n\nFrom the History of Armenia, by\n\nMOSES OF KHORENE\n\n\nAfter the death of Artashes his son Artavasd reigned, and he drove all\nhis brothers and sisters to the lands of Aghyovd and Arberan, that they\nmight not live in A\u00efrarat, on the territory of the King. And when he\nhad reigned but a little while, as he was riding over the bridge of\nArtashat to hunt deer and wild asses on the banks of the Ghin, he was\nseized by some visionary terror and lost his reason. And urging his\nhorse down a steep bank he fell into a chasm, wherein he sank and\ndisappeared.\n\nThe singers of Ghogtan tell concerning him, that when his father was\ndying many people killed themselves according to the customs of the\nheathen; and they say that Artavasd was wroth, and said unto his\nfather:\n\n\n    \u201cNow that thou art gone\n    And hast taken with thee the whole land,\n    How shall I reign over the ruins?\u201d\n\n\nTherefore Artashes cursed him, and said:\n\n\n    \u201cWhen thou ridest forth to hunt\n    Over the free heights of Ararat,\n    The Strong Ones shall have thee,\n    And shall take thee up\n    On to the free heights of Ararat.\n    There shalt thou abide,\n    And never more see the light.\u201d\n\n\nOld women also tell of him how that he is confined in a cavern and\nbound with iron chains. And his two dogs do daily try to gnaw through\nthe chains to set him free, that he may come and put an end to the\nworld; but at the sound of the hammers striking on the anvil, the\nchains are strengthened. So also even in our own times many blacksmiths\ndo keep up the tradition and strike the anvil three or four times on a\nMonday, to strengthen, as they say, the chains of Artavasd. But the\ntruth concerning him is as we have declared above.\n\nOthers say that at his birth the women of the house of Ahasuerus did\ntry to bewitch him, and therefore Artashes tormented them much; and\nthese same singers say also that the Children of the Dragons stole the\ninfant Artavasd and put a devil in his place. But unto us it seemeth\nthat being full of wickedness from his very birth, so also did he end.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHARM VERSES [9]\n\nFOLK SONGS\n\n\n\n    Snowless hang the clouds to-night,\n    Through the darkness comes no light;\n    While my lover, far away,\n    Line or letter will not write.\n\n            * * * * *\n\n    Snowless hang the clouds to-night,\n    Through the darkness comes no light;\n    On this lonely pillow now,\n    Never more shall sleep alight.\n\n            * * * * *\n\n    Like a star whose brightness grows\n    On the earth my beauty shows;\n    Thou shalt long for yet, and seek\n    My dark eyes and arching brows.\n\n            * * * * *\n\n    I beheld a dream last night,\n    Saw these haystacks all alight;\u2014\n    They have borne thy love away,\u2014\n    Wilt not come and for her fight?\n\n            * * * * *\n\n    Soft winds move beneath the trees\n    And thy locks wave in the breeze.\n    Whilst thou roamest hill and field\n    Sleep my eyelids ever flees.\n\n            * * * * *\n\n    Eden\u2019s smile my vineyard wore,\n    Flowers bloomed, a goodly store;\n    Handsome youth and ugly maid\u2014\n    This was never seen before!\n\n            * * * * *\n\n    For the mountain air I\u2019d die,\n    For his form so fair I\u2019d die,\n    Now he\u2019s far off, for the eyes\n    That have seen him there I\u2019d die.\n\n            * * * * *\n\n    \u2019Tis a moonlight night to-night,\n    Eyes so black and cheeks so bright.\n    Give me but the one I love\u2014\n    Peace to you then, and good-night!\n\n            * * * * *\n\n    On my finger is a ring,\n    Crimson rubies, glistening.\n    He that parts me from my love,\u2014\n    Satan to his soul shall cling.\n\n            * * * * *\n\n    Long and lone this night to me\n    Passing slow and wearily;\n    Passing full of sighs and tears\u2014\n    Love, what doth it bring to thee?\n\n            * * * * *\n\n    Round the moon a halo grew,\n    In its depths the storm-cloud drew;\n    Go and ask them who it was\n    Turned from me my lover true.\n\n            * * * * *\n\n    Dainty is the frock I wear,\n    Bright the gauze upon my hair:\n    Since my love is coy with me,\n    I\u2019ll be coy, and will not care!\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE TEARS OF ARAXES\n\nBy RAPHAEL PATKANIAN\n\n\n    I walk by Mother Arax\n    With faltering steps and slow,\n    And memories of past ages\n    Seek in the waters\u2019 flow.\n\n    But they run dark and turbid,\n    And beat upon the shore\n    In grief and bitter sorrow,\n    Lamenting evermore.\n\n    \u201cAraxes! with the fishes\n    Why dost not dance in glee?\n    The sea is still far distant,\n    Yet thou art sad, like me.\n\n    \u201cFrom thy proud eyes, O Mother,\n    Why do the tears downpour?\n    Why dost thou haste so swiftly\n    Past thy familiar shore?\n\n    \u201cMake not thy current turbid;\n    Flow calm and joyously.\n    Thy youth is short, fair river;\n    Thou soon wilt reach the sea.\n\n    \u201cLet sweet rose-hedges brighten\n    Thy hospitable shore,\n    And nightingales among them\n    Till morn their music pour.\n\n    \u201cLet ever-verdant willows\n    Lave in thy waves their feet,\n    And with their bending branches\n    Refresh the noonday heat.\n\n    \u201cLet shepherds on thy margin\n    Walk singing, without fear;\n    Let lambs and kids seek freely\n    Thy waters cool and clear.\u201d\n\n    Araxes swelled her current,\n    Tossed high her foaming tide,\n    And in a voice of thunder\n    Thus from her depths replied:\u2014\n\n    \u201cRash, thoughtless youth, why com\u2019st thou\n    My age-long sleep to break,\n    And memories of my myriad griefs\n    Within my breast to wake?\n\n    \u201cWhen hast thou seen a widow,\n    After her true-love died,\n    From head to foot resplendent\n    With ornaments of pride?\n\n    \u201cFor whom should I adorn me?\n    Whose eyes shall I delight?\n    The stranger hordes that tread my banks\n    Are hateful in my sight.\n\n    \u201cMy kindred stream, impetuous Kur,\n    Is widowed, like to me,\n    But bows beneath the tyrant\u2019s yoke,\n    And wears it slavishly.\n\n    \u201cBut I, who am Armenian,\n    My own Armenians know;\n    I want no stranger bridegroom;\n    A widowed stream I flow.\n\n    \u201cOnce I, too, moved in splendour,\n    Adorned as is a bride\n    With myriad precious jewels,\n    My smiling banks beside.\n\n    \u201cMy waves were pure and limpid,\n    And curled in rippling play;\n    The morning star within them\n    Was mirrored till the day.\n\n    \u201cWhat from that time remaineth?\n    All, all has passed away.\n    Which of my prosperous cities\n    Stands near my waves to-day?\n\n    \u201cMount Ararat doth pour me,\n    As with a mother\u2019s care,\n    From out her sacred bosom\n    Pure water, cool and fair.\n\n    \u201cShall I her holy bounty\n    To hated aliens fling?\n    Shall strangers\u2019 fields be watered\n    From good Saint Jacob\u2019s spring?\n\n    \u201cFor filthy Turk or Persian\n    Shall I my waters pour,\n    That they may heathen rites perform\n    Upon my very shore.\n\n    \u201cWhile my own sons, defenceless,\n    Are exiled from their home,\n    And, faint with thirst and hunger,\n    In distant countries roam?\n\n    \u201cMy own Armenian nation\n    Is banished far away;\n    A godless, barbarous people\n    Dwells on my banks to-day.\n\n    \u201cShall I my hospitable shores\n    Adorn in festive guise\n    For them, or gladden with fair looks\n    Their wild and evil eyes?\n\n    \u201cStill, while my sons are exiled,\n    Shall I be sad, as now.\n    This is my heart\u2019s deep utterance,\n    My true and holy vow.\u201d\n\n    No more spake Mother Arax;\n    She foamed up mightily,\n    And, coiling like a serpent,\n    Wound sorrowing toward the sea.\n\n\n                    Translated by Alice Stone Blackwell.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE EVE OF ASCENSION DAY [10]\n\nBy DERENIK DEMIRJIAN\n\n\n    Night with her ebon hair and starry crown\n      Upon the hills came down.\n    Her loosened tresses floated all unbound\n      And veiled her form around.\n\n    The fountain murmured like an endless tale\n      On her entrancing lips; and it would seem\n    As if God spake within the silent vale,\n      And sleeping Earth were listening, in a dream.\n\n    Like blackened clouds, in Jorokh\u2019s stream arise\n      Those rocks that through her savage waters pierce;\n    Like dragons twain, they glare with threatening eyes,\n      Facing each other, arrogant and fierce.\n\n    Wild Jorokh through that fearsome valley flows\u2014\n      Flows like a caravan that onward sweeps;\n    First roaring loud, then hushed into repose,\n      Groping its way through darkness, on it creeps.\n\n    The sounds of Earth are melted into rest,\n      While strikes the hour of expectation deep;\n    Earth\u2019s waters heave, against each other pressed,\n      And breathless listening, all their vigils keep.\n\n    Decked out like lovely brides stand all the flowers;\n      With nuptial joy the forests trembling wait:\n    Until Heaven\u2019s blessing fall in sacred showers,\n      And whispering softly, each may clasp its mate.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\u201cTHY VOICE IS SWEET\u201d\n\nBy SAYAT NOVA\n\n\n    Thy voice is soft, thy speech all sweetness flows;\n    May he protect who hath thy heart, my love!\n    Thy waist is the gazelle\u2019s, thy hue the rose,\n    Brocade from Franguistan thou art, my love!\n\n    If I compare thee to brocade, \u2018twill fray;\n    If to a plane-tree, \u2018twill be felled one day;\n    All girls are likened to gazelles thou\u2019lt say\u2014\n    How then shall I describe thee truly, love?\n\n    The violet is wild, and low of birth;\n    Rubies are stones, for all their priceless worth:\n    The moon itself is made of rocks and earth\u2014\n    All flame, thou shinest like the sun, my love.\n\n    Thy door I seek as pilgrims seek a shrine:\n    Thine eyes are roses, new-blown eglantine;\n    Thy tongue a pen, thy hands like paper fine,\n    A flower fresh from the sea thou art, my love!\n\n    Within my soul thy hand has placed love\u2019s seed;\n    Thy wiles and coyness make my heart to bleed:\n    Thy Sayat Nova thou hast slain indeed,\n    Thine evil fate he bears for thee, my love.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHRIST AND ABGARUS\n\nFrom the History of Armenia, by\n\nMOSES OF KHORENE\n\n\nAbgar the son of Arsham began to reign in the twentieth year of the\nreign of Arshavr King of Persia. This Abgar was called the Great Man\nbecause of his exceeding meekness and wisdom. In the third year of his\nreign the whole of Armenia fell under the jurisdiction of Rome....\nTherefore the Romans sent commissioners unto the land of Armenia who\nbrought the image of C\u00e6sar and placed it in all the temples.\n\nAt this time was born our Saviour Jesus Christ, the Son of God.\n\nAnd there was a dispute between Abgar and Herod. For Herod commanded\nthat his image also should be placed in the temples of Armenia, with\nthat of C\u00e6sar; to which Abgar not acceding, the anger of Herod was\nkindled against him. And he sent his brother\u2019s son with a great army\nagainst him. And Abgar met and fought him; and he was slain in the\nbattle and his army fled.\n\nSoon after these things Augustus died, and Tiberius reigned over the\nRoman Empire; and Germanicus sent messengers from Rome unto Arshavr and\nAbgar concerning the battle in which Herod\u2019s brother\u2019s son was\nslain. Whereupon Abgar was displeased, and thought to prepare for\nrevolt and war. Then did he build the city of Edessa wherein to keep\nthe hosts of Armenia, and removed thither his court from Mdzpin, with\nall his idols: Nebog, Bel, Batnikol, and Tarata; also with the Royal\nPalace he removed the books of the schools belonging to the temples.\n\nBut strife had arisen between his kinsmen of the reigning house of\nPersia, and Abgar collected his armies and went to reconcile and pacify\nthem. And having settled their disputes he returned home; not sound in\nhis body, but tormented with a painful disease.\n\nAt that time Marinus was governor over Ph\u0153nicia, Palestine, Assyria,\nand Mesopotamia. And Abgarus sent two of his notables unto him to show\nhim the treaty of peace between Arshavr and his brother (for the Romans\nsuspected that he had been to Persia to collect armies against them).\nAnd Marinus received them with peace and great honour, sending word\nunto Abgarus, \u201cFear nothing, only hasten to raise all the taxes.\u201d\n\nAnd on their return the messengers went up to Jerusalem to see our\nSaviour Christ, having heard of His wonderful deeds.\n\nAnd when they had seen Him with their own eyes they returned and told\nAbgar; at which the king marvelled, and believed Him to be the very Son\nof God. And because His body was tormented with a painful disease\ncontracted in the land of Persia seven years before, and he was not\nable to find any cure by men, he sent unto Him a letter asking Him to\ncome and heal him of his disease.\n\n\n\nThe Letter of Abgarus to our Saviour Jesus Christ.\n\n\u201cAbgarus, a prince of the world, unto Jesus, the Saviour and\nBenefactor, Who hast appeared in the City of Jerusalem, greetings.\n\n\u201cI have heard of Thee and of the healings wrought by Thy hands,\nwithout drugs and without roots; for it is said that Thou givest sight\nto the blind, Thou makest the lame to walk, and Thou cleansest the\nlepers; Thou curest those who have been long tormented by diseases, and\nraisest even the dead. And when I heard all this concerning Thee I\nthought that either Thou art God come down from Heaven that workest\nthese things, or the Son of God. I have written unto Thee that Thou\nshouldest trouble Thyself to come unto me, and heal me of my disease. I\nhave heard also that the Jews murmur against Thee, and think to torture\nThee. My city is a small one, but it is beautiful, and it is sufficient\nfor us twain.\u201d\n\n\n\nAnd taking the letter they found Him in Jerusalem. And unto this the\ngospel beareth witness, saying: \u201cThere were some amongst the heathen\nthat came up to Him.\u201d But our Saviour did not undertake to come at\nthe time when they called Him, but made Abgarus worthy of a letter\nthus.\n\n\nThe Answer to the Letter of Abgarus, written at the command of our\nSaviour by the Apostle Thomas.\n\n\u201cBlessed is he who believeth on Me though he hath not seen Me. For it\nis written concerning Me thus: \u2018They that have seen Me believed not\non Me, but they that have not seen Me shall believe and live.\u2019 And\nconcerning that which thou hast written unto Me to come down unto thee,\nit is needful that I fulfil all that for which I was sent; and when I\nhave fulfilled it I will ascend unto Him that sent Me. And after My\nascension I will send one of My disciples, who shall heal thee of thy\ndisease, and give Life unto thee and unto all them that are with\nthee.\u201d\n\n\n\nThis letter did Anan the messenger bring unto Abgarus, with the Image\nof the Saviour, which remaineth in the city of Edessa until this day.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nARAXES CAME DEVOURINGLY\n\nBy HOVHANNES HOVHANNESSIAN\n\n\n    Araxes came devouringly,\n    Swept o\u2019er her boulders scouringly\u2014\n    Where shall I lay my aching head\n    Bowed down with grief o\u2019erpoweringly?\n\n    Oh my Araxes, flow serene;\u2014\n    Tell me, hast thou my sweet love seen?\n    My heart\u2019s desire is unfulfilled;\u2014\n    Arax, hast thou more happy been?\n\n    Mount Ararat with clouds is veiled,\n    My love is lost, my hope has failed.\n    For pity\u2019s sake an answer give\n    To my sad heart with grief assailed.\n\n    I sob and weep the livelong night;\n    Till dawn I watch\u2014I watch and write;\n    Arax, ere sunrise gild thy waves\n    To thee I bring my spirit\u2019s blight.\n\n    Upon the rocks the sunbeams dart,\n    Red flames devour my mourning heart;\n    Those eyes and brows have left with me\n    A sorrow which shall ne\u2019er depart.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE PARROT\u2019S SONG\n\nBy RAFFI\n\n(1837\u20131888)\n\n\n    With nuts and sweets and dainty fare,\n    My lady feeds me oft.\n    She decks my cage with tender care,\n    And hands so white and soft.\n\n    But not a moment\u2019s joy can give\n    This pampering care to me,\n    Since as a prisoner here I live,\n    In gilded misery.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEARTH AND SKY\n\nBy HOVHANNES TOUMANIAN\n\n\n    The Sky bent down his piercing gaze one day\n    On Mother Earth, that far beneath him lay.\n    And as he looked on mountain, sea, and grove,\n    On hill and dale, he burnt with thoughts of love.\n\n    Earth lying numbed and frozen \u2018neath the snow,\n    Sudden awoke to springtime\u2019s ardent glow,\n    And flames of fire her beating heart consumed,\n    While myriad flowers the air around perfumed.\n\n    And thus they loved, though never side by side,\n    Though Nature willed they should be parted wide\u2014\n    The Earth and Sky.\n\n    But when has love accepted with content\n    An obstacle? When o\u2019er the earth steals night,\n    The starry Sky, his vision downward bent,\n    Opens his thousand eyes of shining light,\n    And gazes on his love in worship still,\n    Gazes till dawn, and cannot take his fill.\n\n    And as he gazes, all his starry eyes\n    Are strewn into Earth\u2019s breast of waters blue,\n    Which foam, and heave, and swell, and strive to rise,\n    Longing to reach and join her lover true.\n\n    He, more and more inflamed by passion\u2019s fire,\n    In all the splendours of the night arrayed,\n    Pours in her ear his longing and desire,\n    And shows her all his pomp and pride displayed;\n    Towards her turning\n    And ever yearning.\n\n    But when he finds his love is out of reach\n    He turns away, nor utters sound nor speech;\n    And in the dark the tears that dim his sight\n    Fall on earth\u2019s cheeks in showers of dewdrops bright,\u2014\n    Dewdrops of pearl\u2014the tears that heaven weeps,\n    And then Earth\u2019s bosom swells. Her thousand deeps,\n    Her boundless oceans, rise once more to meet\n    The far-off loved one; and her mountain peaks\n    Like myriad lips rise up the clouds to greet,\u2014\n    To kiss their gloomy forms, and sullen cheeks.\n\n    And love torments her with its ceaseless fire.\n    Her waters foam, and writhe, and are convulsed,\n    Yet never may they reach their heart\u2019s desire,\u2014\n    Restlessly sobbing, ever more repulsed.\n\n    And from her gloomy throne,\n    Behind the clouds, alone,\n    The moon beheld it with her sleepless eye.\n    And told the Poet how she did espy\n    That in the darkness of the silent night\n    Earth heaved her bosom up to Heaven above;\n    And that the sky smiled on her with delight,\n    As they exchanged the secret kiss of love;\n    And for each other sweetest songs they sing\n    And they embrace each other and caress,\n    Like living souls, each other gladdening.\n\n    Then on the Poet fell a deep distress,\n    A jealous sorrow\u2014for he fain would, too,\n    Possess a love as noble and as true.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nO\u2019ER THE MOUNTAINS HIGH HE WENT\n\nFOLK SONG\n\n\n    O\u2019er the mountains high he went,\n    Love, love!\n    In the meadows above\n    I seek for my love.\n    With a weary sigh he went.\n    Love, love!\n    To fight thou art gone\n    While I stay here alone.\n\n    Neither quail nor partridge stirred.\n    Love, love!\n    In the meadows above\n    I look for my love\n    And he left without a word.\n    Love, love!\n    To fight thou art gone\n    While I stay here alone.\n\n    Like a flower\u2019s fragrance sweet\n    He came past, and vanished fleet.\n    I beheld him and I loved\u2014\n    But we never more shall meet.\n\n    When my lover rode away\n    Not a farewell did I say;\n    None there is to help him now\u2014\n    Sourb Carapet, [11] bless his way!\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCOMPLAINTS\n\nBy BEDROS TOURIAN\n\n\n    Farewell, thou Sun, and Thou, O Power Divine,\n    That far above my spirit dimly shine.\n    I go to add another star to heaven:\u2014\n    For what are stars, but anguished curses, riven\n    From innocent and hapless souls, that fly\n    To burn the brow of Heaven? and they supply\n    Fresh armaments, and jewels fiery red,\n    To God, the source of lightning flashes dread!\n\n    Alas, what do I say? Send forth thy fires,\n    O God! Consume this brain that thus aspires\n    To soar, and dares to pierce the depths of heaven;\n    And e\u2019en to climb unto the stars has striven!\n\n    Creator of our trembling beings, hail!\n    Of light and youth, of age when forces fail;\n    Thou that the roses from my brow hast wrenched,\n    Hast stilled my trembling lips, my longings quenched;\n    Mist to mine eyes hast given, sobs to my breath:\u2014\n    Yet thou hast sworn to smile on me in death!\n    Ah, surely thou hast kept for me a life\n    Of fragrance, light, and prayer beyond this strife!\n    But if my latest breath must perish here\n    All silently, in this dark atmosphere\u2014\n    From now a flash of lightning I would be,\n    Coiled round thy name, and, murmuring ceaselessly,\n    A curse I would become to pierce Thy side\u2014\n    God, the Arch Enemy, I would deride!\n\n    Ah me, I tremble, and am pale as death.\n    My brain seethes like a hell; a sobbing breath\n    I am amongst the mournful cypress trees,\n    An autumn leaf soon wafted by the breeze!\n\n    Oh, I would live!\u2014give me of life one spark!\n    To dream\u2014and then embrace the grave so dark?\n    My God, how black is this decree of doom\n    Writ in the lees of dread sepulchral gloom!\n    Oh, give my soul one drop of living fire\u2014\n    To love\u2014and live for ever I desire!\n    Ye stars of heaven, into my spirit fall,\n    There live, and hear your hapless lover call!\n\n    To my pale brow the springtime brings no rose.\n    No smile for me in this world\u2019s sunbeams glows.\n    Night is my coffin, stars for lights flame round.\n    The moon all weeping seeks my funeral mound.\n    There are some men for whom no mourners sigh\u2014\n    It was for them He placed that moon on high;\n    And he that to death\u2019s portals draweth near\n    First life would have\u2014and then a mourner\u2019s tear.\n\n    In vain the stars of heaven spelt \u201cLove\u201d for me\n    And nightingales explained its mystery.\n    In vain of Love I learnt to know the truth,\n    And crystal waves reflected back my youth.\n    In vain the forest silent lay around\u2014\n    The secret leaves gave forth no breath or sound;\n    They would not break upon my reverie\u2014\n    They let me dream of Love eternally.\n    All, all in vain I saw the flowers of spring\n    Their incense to my dreams\u2019 fair altar bring;\n    With their delights they all have mocked at me\u2014\n    And all the world is but God\u2019s mockery!\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nA DAY AFTER\n\nBy BEDROS TOURIAN\n\n\n    Slumbering darkly yesterday,\n    As in deathly sweats I lay,\n    And two roses fiery red\n    On my faded cheeks were spread\u2014\n    On my brow perchance a ray\n    Of Death\u2019s pallor trembling lay.\n    And I prayed and longed for death.\n    Then I heard a sobbing breath....\n    I unclosed my weary eyes\n    And beheld my mother\u2019s tears\u2014\n    Saw those priceless pearls arise,\n    Tokens of her love, her fears.\n    In her heart what grief she bore!\n    And I was that anguish sore.\n    Ah, I raged tempestuously,\n    That black torrent outward leapt [12]:\u2014\n    God of mercy, pardon me,\n    For the tears my mother wept!\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nWITHOUT THEE WHAT ARE SONG AND DANCE TO ME?\n\nBy SAYAT NOVA\n\n\n    Without thee what are song and dance to me?\n    The castagnettes I throw down wearily.\n    My heart and thoughts are ever filled with thee,\n    So rhymes and verses leave me, one by one.\n\n    How can one bandage serve for gashes twain?\n    How on two masters wait a single swain?\n    Would not one gardener tend two groves in vain?\n    For he must graft the saplings one by one.\n\n    Well said our fathers, speaking of such woes,\n    \u201cI made a garden, others plucked the rose.\n    Theirs was the sweetness, mine the thorny close.\u201d\n    In sooth these things befell me one by one!\n\n    Without thee what are riches unto me?\n    What worth could I in silks or cashmeres see?\n    Arrayed in rags and sackcloth I would be,\n    Wandering around the convents, one by one,\n\n    To meet perchance with some one, who might tell,\n    My fair one, how to free me from thy spell;\n    For Sayat Nova\u2019s torments far excel\n    The Seven Wise Men\u2019s complaints told one by one!\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE LAKE OF VAN\n\nBy RAFFI\n\n\n    Unutterable silence here is spread\n    On every hand, and Nature might be dead.\n    A lonely exile, here I sit and weep,\n    And far above, bright Moon, I see thee sweep.\n\n    From Earth\u2019s creation till the skies shall parch\n    And she dissolve, thou circlest Heaven\u2019s high arch:\n    Saw\u2019st thou the laurels on Armenia\u2019s brow?\n    And dost behold her hopeless sorrows now?\n\n    Mournful as I! I wonder dost thou see\n    How she is ground by heels of tyranny!\n    And do thine eyes with bitter tear-drops smart\n    When barb\u00e8d arrows pierce her through the heart\n\n    Thy heart is stone, thy pity stark and cold,\n    For fields of innocent blood thou dost behold\n    Without a word, and o\u2019er Armenia\u2019s land\n    Thy nightly compass of the dome hast spanned\n    With all the brightness that was thine of old.\n\n    O Lake, make answer! Why be silent more?\n    Wilt not lament with one whose heart is sore?\n    And you, ye Zephyrs, hurl the waters high\n    That I may feed them from a mourner\u2019s eye!\n\n    A garden once, luxuriantly fair,\n    Now is Armenia choked with thorn and tare:\n    Thou who hast seen her fortunes wax and wane,\n    Tell me, I pray thee! Must she thus remain?\n\n    Must this unhappy nation ever be\n    By foreign princes held in slavery?\n    Is the Armenian and his stricken race\n    Counted unworthy in God\u2019s judgment-place?\n\n    Comes there a day, comes there a season that\n    Shall hail a flag on topmost Ararat,\n    Calling Armenians, wheresoe\u2019er they roam,\n    To seek once more their loved and beauteous home?\n\n    Hard tho\u2019 it be, O heavenly Ruler, raise\n    Armenia\u2019s spirit, and her heart\u2019s dark ways\n    Light with Thy knowledge: understanding so\n    The mystery of life, her works shall show\n    That all she does is ordered to Thy praise.\n\n    Then suddenly the surface of the lake\n    Grew luminous, and from its depths did break\n    A lovely maid that bore a lantern and\n    A lyre of shining ivory in her hand.\n    Was she an Angel in a strange disguise?\n    Was she a Houri fled from Paradise?\n    Nay, rather was she of the form and hue\n    Of the Armenian Muses!\n                \u201cTell me true,\n    O Muse,\u201d I cried, \u201cour people\u2019s destiny!\n    Speak of the Now and of the Yet-to-be!\u201d\n\n    Then the sweet heavenly Spirit made reply,\n    \u201cWipe, O sad youth, the salt tears from thine eye!\n    I bring glad tidings: better days shall break,\n    New days of joy, that carry in their wake\n    The reign of God, Whose will is free and just:\n    A Golden Age again shall gild the dust!\n\n    \u201cArmenia\u2019s Muses shall awake anew,\n    And her Parnassus bloom with vernal hue,\n    And the bright car Apollo whirls on high\n    Shall sweep the shadows from her clouded sky.\n\n    \u201cFor many a day, like thee, we mourned aloud\n    While the thick darkness wrapped her in its shroud:\n    Now, O belov\u00e8d, may the weeping cease,\u2014\n    To us has come the olive branch of peace!\n\n    \u201cCleanse from thy lute the rust that soils its string;\n    Hasten thee back, and, as thou goest, sing\n    Such joyful lays as yet may re-inspire\n    Hearts that are dead with new and tameless fire.\n    His Will is done; the Time is here; the Day\n    Dawns; and the Morning Star, so God doth say,\n    Shall be thy sign.\u201d\n            Then darkness fell again;\n    The vision fled; but long there did remain\n    An echo of the thrilling voice, that blended\n    With the wild waves whose depths she had descended;\n    And flowery perfumes filled the air like rain.\n\n    O message dear, and sweet prophetic strain!\n    What happiness is come to us,\u2014but Oh!\n    Beautiful Muse, yet one thing would we know\u2014\n    Can a dead corpse rise up and live again?\n\n\n                    Translated by G. M. Green.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nSPRING\n\nBy MUGGURDICH BESHIGTASHLIAN\n\n(1829\u20131868)\n\n\n    O little breeze, how fresh and sweet\n    Thou blowest in the morning air!\n    Upon the flowers caressingly,\n    And on the gentle maiden\u2019s hair.\n    But not my country\u2019s breath thou art:\n    Blow elsewhere, come not near my heart!\n\n    O little bird among the trees,\n    The sweetness of thy joyful voice\n    Entrances all the Hours of Love,\n    And makes the listening woods rejoice.\n    But not my country\u2019s bird thou art:\n    Sing elsewhere, come not near my heart!\n\n    How peacefully thou murmurest,\n    O gentle, limpid little brook;\n    Within thy mirror crystal-bright\n    The rose and maiden bend to look.\n    But not my country\u2019s brook thou art:\n    Flow elsewhere\u2014come not near my heart!\n\n    Although Armenia\u2019s breeze and bird\n    Above a land of ruins fly;\n    Although through mourning cypress groves\n    Armenia\u2019s turbid stream flows by,\u2014\n    They are the sighing of her heart,\n    And never shall from mine depart!\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE FOX\n\nFOLK SONG\n\n\n    The fox ran up into the mill,\n    He raised his paws, and danced his fill.\n    Brave Master Fox, \u2019tis but your due,\n    In all the world there\u2019s none like you!\n\n    A peck of corn he ground that day,\n    Which on his back he bore away.\n\n    He ate the village chickens brown,\n    And trod the upland cornfields down.\n\n    The fox lies on his shaggy side,\n    His paws stretched out before him wide.\n\n    Sable and fox this fall we\u2019ll catch,\n    And for my son I\u2019ll make a match.\n\n    Alas, this year no price they made:\u2014\n    My Hovhannes unmarried stayed!\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE TALE OF ROSIPHELEE\n\nFrom the \u201cConfessio Amantis\u201d by\n\nJOHN GOWER\n\n(Died 1408)\n\n\n      Of Armenye, I rede \u00feus,\n    Ther was a king, which Herupus\n    Was hote, and he a lusti Maide\n    To dowhter hadde, and as men saide\n    Hire name was Rosiphelee;\n    Which \u00feo was of gret renomee,\n    ffor sche was bo\u00fee wys and fair,\n    And scholde ben hire fader hair.\n    Bot sche hadde o defalte of Slow\u00fee\n    Towardes loue, and \u00feat was row\u00fee;\n    ffor so wel cowde noman seie,\n    Which mihte sette hire in \u00fee weie\n    Of loues occupacion\n    Thurgh non ymaginacion;\n    That scole wolde sche noght knowe.\n    And \u00feus sche was on of \u00fee slowe\n    As of such hertes besinesse,\n    Til whanne Venus \u00fee goddesse,\n    Which loues court ha\u00fe forto reule,\n    Ha\u00fe broght hire into betre reule,\n    ffor\u00fe wi\u00fe Cupide and wi\u00fe his miht:\n    ffor \u00feei merueille how such a wiht,\n    Which \u00feo was in hir lusti age,\n    Desire\u00fe nother Mariage\n    Ne \u021dit \u00fee loue of paramours,\n    Which euere ha\u00fe be \u00fee comvn cours\n    Amonges hem \u00feat lusti were.\n    So was it schewed after \u00feere:\n    ffor he \u00feat hihe hertes lowe\u00fe\n    Wi\u00fe fyri Dartes whiche he \u00ferovre\u00fe,\n    Cupide, which of loue is godd,\n    In chastisinge ha\u00fe mad a rodd\n    To dryue awei hir wantounesse;\n    So \u00feat wi\u00feinne a while, I gesse,\n    Sche hadde on such a chance sporned,\n    That al hire mod was ouertorned,\n    Which ferst sche hadde of slow manere:\n    ffor \u00feus it fell, as \u00feou schalt hiere.\n    Whan come was \u00fee Mon\u00fee of Maii,\n    Sche wolde walke vpon a dai,\n    And \u00feat was er \u00fee Sonne Ariste;\n    Of wommen bot a fewe it wiste,\n    And for\u00fe sche wente priuely\n    Vnto \u00fee Park was faste by,\n    Al softe walkende on \u00fee gras,\n    Til sche cam \u00feer \u00fee Launde was,\n    Thurgh which \u00feer ran a gret riuere.\n    It \u00feoghte hir fair, and seide, Here\n    I wole abide vnder \u00fee schawe:\n    And bad hire wommen to wi\u00fedrawe,\n    And \u00feer sche stod al one stille,\n    To \u00feenke what was in hir wille.\n    Sche sih \u00fee swote floures springe,\n    Sche herde glade foules singe,\n    Sche sih \u00fee bestes in her kinde,\n    The buck, \u00fee do, \u00fee hert, \u00fee hinde,\n    The madle go wi\u00fe \u00fee femele;\n    And so began \u00feer a querele\n    Betwen loue and hir oghne herte,\n    ffro which sche cou\u00fee noght asterte.\n    And as sche caste hire yhe aboute,\n    Sche syh clad in o suite a route\n    Of ladis, wher \u00feei comen ryde\n    Along vnder \u00fee wodes syde.\n    On faire amblende hors \u00feei sete,\n    That were al whyte, fatte and grete,\n    And euerichon \u00feei ride on side:\n    The Sadles were of such a Pride,\n    Wi\u00fe Perle and gold so wel begon,\n    So riche syh sche neuere non:\n    In kertles and in Copes riche\n    Thei weren clo\u00feed, alle liche,\n    Departed euene of whyt and blew;\n    Wi\u00fe alle lustes \u00feat sche knew\n    Thei were enbrouded oueral.\n    Here bodies weren long and smal,\n    The beaute faye vpon her face\n    Non er\u00fely \u00feing it may desface;\n    Corones on here hed \u00feei beere,\n    As ech of hem a qweene weere,\n    That al \u00fee gold of Cresus halle\n    The leste coronal of alle\n    Ne mihte haue boght after \u00fee wor\u00fe:\n    Thus come \u00feei ridende for\u00fe.\n      The kinges dowhter, which \u00feis syh,\n    ffor pure abaissht drowh hire adryh\n    And hield hire clos vnder \u00fee bowh,\n    And let hem passen stille ynowh;\n    ffor as hire \u00feoghte in hire avis,\n    To hem \u00feat were of such a pris\n    Sche was noght wor\u00fei axen \u00feere,\n    ffro when \u00feei come or what \u00feei were.\n    Bot leuere \u00fean \u00feis worldes good\n    Sche wolde haue wist hou \u00feat it stod,\n    And putte hire hed alitel oute;\n    And as sche lokede hire aboute,\n    Sche syh comende vnder \u00fee linde\n    A womman vp an hors behinde.\n    The hors on which sche rod was blak,\n    Al lene and galled on \u00fee back,\n    And haltede, as he were encluyed,\n    Wherof \u00fee womman was annvied;\n    Thus was \u00fee hors in sori plit,\n    Bot for al \u00feat a sterre whit\n    Amiddes in \u00fee front he hadde.\n    Hir Sadel ek was wonder badde,\n    In which \u00fee wofull womman sat,\n    And natheles \u00feer was wi\u00fe \u00feat\n    A riche bridel for \u00fee nones\n    Of gold and preciouse Stones.\n    Hire cote was somdiel totore;\n    Aboute hir middel twenty score\n    Of horse haltres and wel mo\n    Ther hyngen ate \u00feo.\n      Thus whan sche cam \u00fee ladi nyh,\n    Than tok sche betre hiede and syh\n    This womman fair was of visage,\n    ffreyssh, lusti, \u021dong and of tendre age;\n    And so \u00feis ladi, \u00feer sche stod,\n    Be\u00feoghte hire wel and vnderstod\n    That \u00feis, which com ridende \u00feo,\n    Tidinges cou\u00fee telle of \u00feo,\n    Which as sche sih tofore ryde,\n    And putte hir for\u00fe and preide abide,\n    And seide, Ha, Suster, let me hiere,\n    What ben \u00feei, \u00feat now riden hiere,\n    And ben so richeliche arraied?\n      This womman, which com so esmaied,\n    Ansuerde wi\u00fe ful softe speche,\n    And sei\u00fe, Ma Dame, I schal \u021dou teche.\n    These ar of \u00feo \u00feat whilom were\n    Seruantz to loue, and trow\u00fee beere,\n    Ther as \u00feei hadde here herte set.\n    ffare wel, for I mai noght be let:\n    Ma Dame, I go to mi seruise,\n    So moste I haste in alle wise;\n    ffor\u00fei, ma Dame, \u021dif me leue,\n    I mai noght longe wi\u00fe \u021dou leue.\n      Ha, goode Soster, \u021dit I preie,\n    Tell me whi \u021de ben so beseie,\n    And wi\u00fe \u00feese haltres \u00feus begon.\n      Ma Dame, whilom I was on\n    That to mi fader hadde a king;\n    Bot I was slow, and for no \u00feing\n    Me liste noght to loue obeie,\n    And \u00feat I now ful sore abeie.\n    ffor I whilom no loue hadde,\n    Min hors is now so fieble and badde,\n    And al totore is myn arai;\n    And euery \u021deer \u00feis freisshe Maii\n    These lusti ladis ryde aboute,\n    And I mot nedes suie here route\n    In \u00feis manere as \u021de now se,\n    And trusse here haltres for\u00fe wi\u00fe me,\n    And am bot as here horse knaue.\n    Non o\u00feer office I ne haue,\n    Hem \u00feenk\u00fe I am wor\u00fei nomore,\n    ffor I was slow in loues lore,\n    Whan I was able forto lere,\n    And wolde noght \u00fee tales hiere\n    Of hem \u00feat cov\u00feen loue teche.\n      Now tell me \u00feanne, I \u021dov beseche,\n    Wherof \u00feat riche bridel serue\u00fe.\n      Wi\u00fe \u00feat hire chere awei sche swerue\u00fe,\n    And gan to wepe, and \u00feus sche tolde:\n    This bridel, which \u021de nov beholde\n    So riche vpon myn horse hed,\u2014\n    Ma Dame, afore, er I was ded,\n    Whan I was in mi lusti lif,\n    Ther fel into myn herte a strif\n    Of loue, which me overcom,\n    So \u00feat \u00feerafter hiede I nom,\n    And \u00feoghte I wolde loue a kniht:\n    That laste wel a fourtenyht,\n    ffor it no lengere mihte laste,\n    So nyh my lif was ate laste.\n    Bot now, allas, to late war\n    That I ne hadde him loued ar:\n    ffor de\u00fe cam so in haste bime,\n    Er I \u00feerto hadde eny time,\n    That it ne mihte ben achieued.\n    Bot for al \u00feat I am relieued,\n    Of \u00feat mi will was good \u00feerto,\n    That loue soffre\u00fe it be so\n    That I schal swiche a bridel were.\n    Now haue \u021de herd al myn ansuere:\n    To godd, ma Dame, I \u021dou betake,\n    And warne\u00fe alle for mi sake,\n    Of loue \u00feat \u00feei ben noght ydel,\n    And bidd hem \u00feenke vpon mi brydel.\n    And wi\u00fe \u00feat word al sodeinly\n    Sche passe\u00fe, as it were a Sky,\n    Al clene out of \u00feis ladi sihte.\n    And \u00feo for fere hire herte afflihte,\n    And seide to hirself, Helas!\n    I am riht in \u00fee same cas:\n    Bot if I liue after \u00feis day,\n    I schal amende it, if I may.\n    And \u00feus homward \u00feis lady wente,\n    And changede al hire ferste entente,\n    Wi\u00feinnne hire herte and gan to swere\n    That sche none haltres wolde bere.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE SONG OF THE VULTURE\n\nBy ELIA DEMIRJIBASHIAN\n\n(1851\u20131908)\n\n\n    A great black bird like to a great black cloud\n    Hovers forever o\u2019er my spirit bowed.\n    He is my guardian angel, but alack!\n    Darker than night he is\u2014than hell more black.\n\n    A fearful-looking bird, with wings wide spread,\n    Ill-omened as the Devil, and as dread;\n    He hovers round my wasted body, till\n    I wonder if I yet have life or will.\n\n    Upon his wings no spot of white appears,\n    His plumage black sheds horror down, and fears.\n    Black are his talons\u2014sharp, like daggers fell;\n    And like a hound I hear him howl and yell.\n\n    His wide-spread pinions hide the light from me;\n    Heaven dark, and earth a dungeon black I see.\n    All is in shadow\u2014air and earth and skies\u2014\n    He even hides the lightning from my eyes.\n\n    I cannot see the paleness of my face,\n    I cannot see the maiden\u2019s smiling grace;\n    Black is the lake, the stars and lilies dark;\n    What was that cry? The bird\u2019s dread calling!\u2014Hark!\n\n    I seem to totter on the brink of hell\n    And think the evil fowl my corpse can smell.\n    I seem to hear the goblins fight with him\u2014\n    Away with thee!\u2014ours is this booty grim!\u201d\n\n    But he is cruel, strong, and merciless\u2014\n    This great black bird;\u2014he heeds not my distress.\n    Ten years I\u2019ve lived beneath his deadly wings\u2014\n    Ten years unceasingly my death-bell rings.\n\n    Ten years ago one night it came to pass\n    On Moda\u2019s rock I sat and dreamed; alas,\n    My foe came to me\u2014Carnal was his name:\n    He shouted, \u201cVain are Life and Love and Fame!\u201d\n\n    Youthful I was, and armed with Love and Hope\n    I struggled. \u201cOh, my soul, arise and cope\n    With this thy foe, and vanquish him,\u201d I cried.\n    But \u2019twas in vain, as I full soon espied.\n\n    My sun and joy since then are on the wane.\n    My foe cries out, \u201cI, only I, shall reign!\n    O\u2019er all the universe none rules but me!\u201d\u2014\n    Then rose a Siren\u2019s voice alluringly....\n\n    Nirvana and the flesh held me that hour:\n    God was asleep\u2014my soul was in their power.\n    Then on the moon I saw a spot appear;\u2014\n    It grew, and grew ... my heart turned sick with fear.\n\n    I was as dead. The carrion-eating bird\n    Had left that heavenly corpse\u2014the moon\u2014allured\n    To earth by me. It sought my bosom where\n    The image of Christ crucified lay bare.\n\n    Beneath those evil wings I hopelessly\n    Roam over the earth;\u2014my guardian angel he;\n    No more the cross I wear, nor in my breast\n    Dwells holy faith; \u2019tis death: death without rest.\n\n    Like to the moon, whether I wax or wane\n    Still am I lifeless, cursed with this bane.\n    I give the vulture of my flesh to tear,\n    And shiver when the name of \u201clove\u201d I hear.\n\n    While yet I live he is devouring me:\n    I cannot bear this pain\u2014Oh, set me free!\n    I am not dead\u2014Love still dwells with me here.\n    I am alive\u2014and some call me the \u201cNer.\u201d [13]\n\n    Ah, gruesome bird, art thou not yet content\n    These ten long years my body to have rent?\n    Ah, vulture black\u2014black earth and ebon sky,\n    \u2019Tis time that I should lay me down and die.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nDANCE SONG [14]\n\nFOLK SONG\n\n\n    \u201cI have loved your winsome face,\n    And your never-fading grace.\n    If they give you not to me\n    May God send them black disgrace!\u201d\n\n    \u201cMountain sorrel, fresh with dew,\n    Sweets I send and honey new;\n    Is a dainty maid like me\n    Fit to wed a youth like you?\u201d\n\n    \u201cYou are arch, my little maid,\n    In four plaits your hair you braid,\n    Make no more pretence to me\u2014\n    For you love me, I\u2019m afraid!\u201d\n\n    \u201cDrive your plough ahead, and go;\n    Underneath it thistles grow.\n    You are reckless, young, and wild\u2014\n    She is mad would wed you so!\u201d\n\n    \u201cNear your house a field I\u2019ll sow\n    And I\u2019ll stone the ill-starred crow.\n    When I have the girl I love\n    I\u2019ll let all my folly go.\u201d\n\n    \u201cOn its way the water flows,\n    Washing with its waves the rose.\n    My beloved amidst the youths,\n    Like a mighty fortress shows.\u201d\n\n    \u201cIn the vineyard you have grown,\n    Where the melon plants are sown,\n    Day and night upon my lute,\n    You I sing, and you alone.\u201d\n\n    \u201cSing a minstrel\u2019s song to me,\n    Or the blackbird\u2019s rhapsody;\n    All your praises I deserve,\n    And my bridegroom you shall be!\u201d\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nBALLAD\n\nBy RAFFI\n\n\n    Dark forests clothe the mountain-side,\n    And o\u2019er that mountain\u2019s lofty head\n    The heavens bend their arches wide,\n    And, dome-like, round its summit spread.\n\n    A castle stood upon the steep,\n    Enchanted by a witch\u2019s spell;\n    A maiden wept within the keep,\n    Bound by the chains of slav\u2019ry fell.\n\n    Alone and sad, the maiden fair\n    Sat in her dark and narrow room.\n    No hope had she, but dire despair\n    Had worn her heart with thoughts of gloom.\n\n    A minstrel passed\u2014as it befell\u2014\n    A singer, singing sweetest strains;\n    He broke the witch\u2019s evil spell,\n    And loosed the gentle maiden\u2019s chains.\n\n    She ran to him and kissed his face,\n    And said, \u201cHow I have longed for thee!\n    God, in His mercy and His grace,\n    Hath sent thee here to set me free!\u201d\n\n    And when, above the mountain steep,\n    The moon shone out her silver light,\n    And when the stars began to peep,\n    Twinkling and scatt\u2019ring jewels bright,\n\n    The minstrel\u2019s love stole out unseen,\n    With burning thoughts of her belov\u2019d;\n    All through the woods so dark and green,\n    Seeking, and seeking him, she roved.\n\n    A hut there was within that wood,\n    Meet dwelling for some dervish old;\n    All lined with moss and leaves, it stood\n    Protected from the rain and cold.\n\n    The minstrel lived within this nook,\n    And sang alone beneath the trees.\n    His friend\u2014Firdausi\u2019s wondrous book,\n    His comrades\u2014Sadi and Hafiz.\n\n    The Houri of the castle there\n    Spent many happy days and nights\u2014\n    Immortal souls in Jennet [15] fair\n    Have never tasted such delights.\n\n    He wiped the tears by sorrow shed,\n    And healed the wounds by sorrow wrought;\n    Like captive from a prison fled,\n    Her cares and woes she soon forgot.\n\n    Broken and aged was her sire;\n    A mighty Prince, the castle\u2019s lord,\n    To satisfy his heart\u2019s desire,\n    Had reft her from him with his sword.\n\n    The Prince held office high at court,\n    And countless women, bright as day,\n    Lived in his harem\u2019s vile resort,\n    And slaves, more than my tongue can say.\n\n    His women, guarded day and night,\n    Caged in with iron bars he keeps;\n    But LOVE, more strong than despot\u2019s might,\n    Breaks through that cage, those bars o\u2019erleaps.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nNO BIRD CAN REACH THE MOUNTAIN\u2019S CREST\n\nBy HOVHANNES COSTANIANTZ\n\n\n    No bird can reach the mountain\u2019s crest.\n    There blow the winds that never rest;\n    And \u2018midst the stars that crown the height,\n    Saint Gregory\u2019s fair lamp shines bright. [16]\n    Ah, gentle brother, sweet and brave,\n    That Light thy sword and spirit save!\n\n    How many rills the mountain yields!\n    Those rills are streams, that dew the fields.\n    My brother sweet, those rushing streams\n    Are like my longings and my dreams.\n    Happy the maid that loveth thee!\n    When shall thy heart\u2019s desire be?\n\n    See, in the South a tempest breaks\u2014\n    tempest howls, the leaflet quakes;\n    The bluebell hangs its petals bright,\n    The cock cries out with all his might.\n    Like showers of gold comes down the rain:\u2014\n    Why comes my love not home again?\n\n    The Star of Light begins his course,\n    The brave one mounts upon his horse.\n    He drives his spurs into its flanks,\n    And rides away to join the ranks.\n    Happy the maid that loveth thee,\n    When shall thy heart\u2019s desire be?\n\n    There comes no news from far away,\n    Our brave ones rest not from the fray.\n    \u2019Tis long that sleep my eyes doth flee\u2014\n    Our foemen press unceasingly.\n    \u2019Tis long for sleep I vainly pray:\n    There comes no news from far away.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE NIGHTINGALE OF AVARAIR\n\nBy LEO ALISHAN\n\n\n    Whence comest thou, my moon, gentle and still,\n    Spreading thy light o\u2019er meadow, vale, and hill,\n    And o\u2019er this patriarch, that lost in thought\n    The midnight plains of Avara\u00efr has sought?\n    Whereon our fathers, martyred for the right,\n    As giants fell, to rise as angels bright!\n    Com\u2019st thou to spread upon their ashes cold\n    From yonder snowy cloud a pall of gold?\n    Or would\u2019st thou bind around thy brow of light\n    A token of Armenia\u2019s life-blood bright?\u2014\n    Or art thou still in awestruck wonder lost\n    To think how Vartan fell, with all his host;\u2014\n    Leaving death\u2019s shadow in his foeman\u2019s breast,\n    Trusting his soul to God, he sank to rest!\n\n    And thou, Dughmood, that stained with blood I see\n    Winding amongst thy rushes sobbingly;\n    Thou breeze that from Magou\u2019s steep rock dost waft,\n    Or from great Ararat descendest soft;\u2014\n    Thou too like me dost tremble, and thy wings\n    Listlessly bear thee on thy wanderings:\n    O\u2019er hill and dale thou fliest, from wood to wood,\n    Till on this plain thou stay\u2019st thy wings to brood;\n    Then bearest on this careworn heart\u2019s last sigh\n    To echo in Armenia ere it die!\n\n    O friend of aching hearts, soul of the rose,\n    That breakest with thy voice the night\u2019s repose;\n    Sing, little Nightingale, from yonder tree\u2014\n    Armenia\u2019s deathless heroes sing with me!\n    From Thaddeus\u2019 convent as thy voice I heard,\n    Praying before the cross, my heart was stirred.\n    I hastened forth beneath thy magic spell\n    And found thee on the plain where Vartan fell.\n\n    Ah, Nightingale of Avara\u00efr, they say\n    No bird art thou that nightly sing\u2019st thy lay,\n    But Eghish\u00e9, the singer wondrous sweet,\n    That in the rose\u2019s heart Vartan dost greet.\n    The winter drives thee far away to mourn;\n    Spring\u2019s roses bid thee to Ardaz return,\n    In Eghish\u00e9\u2019s sad notes to sob and cry,\n    To call Vartan, and list for a reply.\n\n    If ever like the fainting Nightingale\u2019s\n    My voice with you, Togarmah\u2019s sons, prevails,\u2014\n    Sons of those fathers virtuous and wise,\n    Who with their glories filled books, plains, and skies;\u2014\n    If of Armenian blood one drop should flow\n    Within your veins, or make your hearts to glow;\n    Or if their glories past you too would share,\n    To Ardaz with the patriarch repair!\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHOU ART SO SWEET\n\nBy SAYAT NOVA\n\n\nThou art so sweet thou wilt not pain the minstrel singing songs to thee,\nBut when he loves thee thou dost frown\u2014in vain he tells his wrongs to thee.\n\nLove\u2019s fire is such, \u2018twill not consume\u2014\u2018twill burn, and burn, and ever burn:\nIf in that sea of flame I fall to cool me thou wilt never turn.\n\nAlas, how shall the minstrel bear thy lightning gleams that pierce his heart?\nNo pact or treaty wilt thou make\u2014a monarch absolute thou art.\n\nIf thou dost meet with mountains high like wax thou meltest them away;\nIf cities fair lie on thy path, their pride in ruins thou dost lay.\n\nIn sooth, no compact wilt thou make with him who sings these strains to thee:\nSayat Nova no credit hath when he would tell his pains to thee.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE WANDERING ARMENIAN TO THE SWALLOW\n\nBy C. A. DODOCHIAN\n\n\n    O swallow, gentle swallow,\n    Thou lovely bird of spring!\n    Say, whither art thou flying\n    So swift on gleaming wing?\n\n    Fly to my birthplace, Ashdarag,\n    The spot I love the best;\n    Beneath my father\u2019s roof-tree,\n    O swallow, build thy nest.\n\n    There dwells afar my father,\n    A mournful man and grey,\n    Who for his only son\u2019s return\n    Waits vainly, day by day.\n\n    If thou shouldst chance to see him,\n    Greet him with love from me;\n    Bid him sit down and mourn with tears\n    His son\u2019s sad destiny.\n\n    In poverty and loneliness,\n    Tell him, my days are passed:\n    My life is only half a life,\n    My tears are falling fast.\n\n    To me, amid bright daylight,\n    The sun is dark at noon;\n    To my wet eyes at midnight\n    Sleep comes not, late or soon.\n\n    Tell him that, like a beauteous flower\n    Smit by a cruel doom,\n    Uprooted from my native soil,\n    I wither ere my bloom.\n\n    Fly on swift wing, dear swallow,\n    Across the quickening earth,\n    And seek in fair Armenia\n    The village of my birth!\n\n\n                    Translated by Alice Stone Blackwell.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE CHRIST-CHILD\n\nBy SAINT GREGORY OF NAREK\n\n(951\u20131009)\n\n\n    The lips of the Christ-child are like to twin leaves;\n    They let roses fall when he smiles tenderly.\n    The tears of the Christ-child are pearls when he grieves;\n    The eyes of the Christ-child are deep as the sea.\n    Like pomegranate grains are the dimples he hath,\n    And clustering lilies spring up in his path.\n\n\n                    Translated by Alice Stone Blackwell.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE CASTLE OF ANOUSH [17]\n\nBy RAFFI\n\n\n\u201cAnoush\u201d in name, but full of bitterness in reality.\n\nOn one side of the road that leads from Tisbon to Ecbatana stands a\nsteep, pointed crag. Its massive base rises from an extensive bed of\nrock, on which Nature has placed it as on a firm pedestal.\n\nNot a handful of earth is to be found upon its denuded surface. Not a\nsingle plant grows on its hard, stony sides.\n\nThe burning rays of the southern sun have dried and baked it like an\nearthen vessel in the potter\u2019s ever-burning fire. From time\nimmemorial that rock has ever been so.\n\nIt happened one day that Farhat, the great Persian sculptor, passed at\nthe foot of the rock with his pickaxe on his shoulder. He was aroused\nsuddenly from the deep meditation in which he had been lost by the\nsound of horns and trumpets. He stopped. Greyhounds and hawk-bearers\nappeared, gay and thoughtless riders burst into sight like a storm,\nthen passed away from sight like a storm.\n\nThe dim, shadowy outline of a face remained in his heart; that vision\nstole away his peace of mind. Every day at the same hour he was to be\nseen on the road waiting,\u2014waiting with the tenderest feelings of his\nheart aroused. The beloved vision would appear, and after throwing a\ncareless glance at him would pass by like a flash of lightning.\n\nHe lost his peace of mind, abandoned his Art, and wandered like one\nbeside himself in the solitudes of the mountains.\n\nDays passed, weeks passed, and months passed. One day he was sitting\nthere waiting. She appeared. But this time there were neither\ngreyhounds nor hawk-bearers with her. She was alone, with a number of\nher maidens. She urged her horse on and came up to Farhat.\n\n\u201cHail, great Master,\u201d she said. \u201cWhat has chained thee to these\nmountains\u2014to the solitudes of these desert places? I ever see thee\nhere.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe joy of sometimes seeing a transcendently beautiful vision light\nup the solitudes of these desert places,\u201d answered Farhat.\n\n\u201cIs thy love so great, then?\u201d she asked, smiling.\n\n\u201cWho can help loving her that has not a peer amongst the immortals?\nWho can help loving her whose breath gives life, whose one glance\nconfers eternal happiness? Do you think that the heart of him that is\never occupied with the stone and the chisel becomes so hardened that\nthere is no room left in it for beauty?\u201d\n\n\u201cI think not so. He that can give form and life to a shapeless stone,\nhe that creates beautiful beings out of cold marble, cannot but love\nwhat is beautiful himself. But listen, Artist\u2014to win the heart of the\ndaughter of the Arian King requires great sacrifices.\u201d\n\n\u201cI know that great goddesses require great sacrifices.\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not demand what is impossible\u2014I only wish to try thy love.\nLook, Farhat, dost thou see yonder rock?\u201d and she pointed to the\nsharp crag. \u201cThou must create palaces for me out of that rock, so\nthat I may look down from the summit with delight, and watch how the\nTigris threads the beautiful plains of Assyria with its silvery curves,\nor how the tall palm-trees of Baghistan wave at the breathing of the\ngentle zephyrs. And in the heart of the rock thou must make storehouses\nfor my treasures, and underneath there must be dwelling-places for my\nhorses. When all this is ready I shall be thine.\u201d\n\nShe spoke, and rode away.\n\nYears passed away. The pickaxe and hammer of the Master worked\nuntiringly at the unyielding rock. The ceaseless sounds of the heavy\nblows were to be heard day and night. The work was carried on\nsuccessfully. Love strengthened the genius of the great Master, and the\nbeauty of the Arian King\u2019s daughter fired him with enthusiasm. He\nmade chambers, he made state-rooms, he made halls decorated with\npictures, and out of the solid rock he created a palace of marvellous\nbeauty. He made the walls of the apartments live with pictures carved\nin relief. In one place he sculptured the battles that the old heroes\nand giants of Iran had fought with devils and evil spirits; in another\nthe glory and greatness of the ancient kings of Iran, and festivals\ncelebrating their victories and deeds of prowess. He drew on the stone\nthe valiant acts of ancestral kings, their virtues, and the benefits\nthat they scattered over the land of the Arians. He worked all these\nwonders for the one being to whom he had devoted all the passion of his\nlove. He worked them all so that she might be continually reminded of\nthe glorious past of Iran, that her heart might continually be rejoiced\nwith the noble pride that she was the descendant of a great dynasty\nborn of the gods, which had always done god-like deeds.\n\nShe came and saw it all.\n\n\u201cIt is very beautiful,\u201d she said, \u201cbut there is no water\nhere\u2014there are no trees. Make fountains for me that shall throw the\nwater up higher than the clouds. Plant trees for me under whose shadow\nI may rest;\u2014rest in thine arms!\u201d\n\nShe spoke, and rode away.\n\nHe turned the courses of far distant streams and brought the water by\nunderground channels to the very summit of the rock. He shaped the\nstone, dug out basins, and created silvery fountains. Day and night the\nnever-ending supply of water rose out of the fountains, and dewed the\nsurrounding plants with pearl-like drops. He levelled the surface of\nthe rock, and covered it with earth brought from distant places. He\nplanted trees and made lofty hanging gardens that looked as if they\nwere growing in the air. Years passed. The trees grew and gave fruit,\nthe flowers blossomed and filled the scented gardens with their\ngladdening perfumes. The birds came and filled the place with their\nhappy songs. But she who was to have been the queen and pride of that\nbeautiful paradise did not appear.\n\nOne day the Master sat at the foot of the palace he had made, leaning\nhis chin on his hand and looking sorrowfully down the road. A peasant\ncame up singing, and sat down beside him to rest a little.\n\n\u201cWhence comest thou?\u201d asked the Master. \u201cThou art fortunate in\nbeing so happy.\u201d\n\n\u201cFrom Tisbon,\u201d said the peasant. \u201cAnd why should I not be happy\nwhen all the world is rejoicing?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat has happened?\u201d\n\n\u201cDost thou not know that in town the wedding has already been going\non for seven days and seven nights? The wine is flowing in rivers, and\nthere is no limit to the dainty fare. They are eating, drinking, and\nmaking merry. The whole town resounds with the strains of music, and\nthe feet of the dancers are never weary. I also came in for my share of\ngood things\u2014I ate and drank as much as I could, and now I am taking\nhome what will be enough for my wife and children for many weeks.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhose wedding is it?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe King\u2019s.\u201d\n\n\u201cTo whom is he married?\u201d\n\n\u201cTo Anoush.\u201d\n\nThe Master spoke no more. He only started as one struck by lightning,\nthen remained motionless. Then he rose and walked with weak, trembling\nsteps towards the palace he had created. He looked around, and for the\nlast time raised his sorrowful eyes to all the work that was the result\nof passionate love and beautiful Art. Then he entered into his\nwork-room. His tools were lying about. He took up a heavy hammer and\ncame out on to the narrow ledge. \u201cShe deceived me!\u201d he said, and\nthrew the hammer up into the air. It turned over and over, then fell on\nto his head. His warm blood sprinkled the wonders that were the work of\nhis hands.\n\nFarhat did not obtain the desire of his heart, but the name of his\nbeloved Anoush remained with that stone fortress, and it was called the\nCastle of Anoush.\n\nThat rock-hewn palace which was prepared to be the temple of love and\neverlasting happiness became a hell full of tears and unending\nsuffering. It was there that the Kings of Persia imprisoned the\nArmenian Kings who fell captive into their hands.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nHAPPINESS\n\nBy ARSCHAG TCHOBANIAN\n\n(Born 1872)\n\n\n    Weary of vainly seeking Happiness\n    In city alleys full of sound and strife,\n    I hastened from the noisy human press,\u2014\n    The labyrinth of this dark, grovelling life.\n\n    I said, \u201cThe mountain knows its place of rest,\u201d\n    And clambered up above the level plain;\n    But the bald Titan answered me distressed:\u2014\n    \u201cDullness alone doth Time for me ordain.\u201d\n\n    I left the mountain and approached the winds\u2014\n    Those infinite, proud spirits, ever free;\n    \u201cWe are the sighs of griefs that to your minds\n    Must still remain unknown,\u201d they answered me.\n\n    And then above the winds and clouds I rose,\n    Soared to the skies, and asked the stars of Heaven.\n    \u201cWe are the tears that flow from countless woes,\u201d\n    The answer by those eyes of darkness given.\n\n    Above the stars, in the lone fields of space,\n    I saw God musing, sorrowful and mild.\n    \u201cFather,\u201d I cried, \u201cwhere is Joy\u2019s dwelling-place?\u201d\n    He said, \u201cI also do not know, my child.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCONCERNING DEATH\n\nBy HOVHANNES TULKOURANTZI\n\n(1450\u20131525)\n\n\n    O evil man, with passions fraught,\n    How long wilt thou strive after sin?\n    Enough the ill that thou hast wrought:\n    Repent,\u2014a holier life begin.\n\n    From Adam\u2019s time until this day,\n    No soul hath had immortal breath;\n    Thou heed\u2019st not what the Scriptures say\u2014\n    The sinner\u2019s punishment is death.\n\n    He that had palaces of gold,\n    And brilliant cities, fortress-bound,\n    Hath left behind his wealth untold,\n    And lies beneath the sodden ground.\n\n    Who loved to quaff the spicy wine,\n    And spent his life in ribaldry,\n    I saw him like a swollen swine,\u2014\n    loathsome corpse, unsavoury.\n\n    The man that rode an arch-necked steed\n    And flashed his sword around to slay,\n    I saw him penitent indeed:\u2014\n    Between two wooden planks he lay.\n\n    And evil wenches, women fair,\n    Who dress in robes of gaudy dye,\n    Who love to curl and braid their hair\u2014\n    Their brightness with the sun might vie:\n\n    They swing about, and turn, and sway,\n    And are beloved of every man;\n    But hateful when Death comes are they,\n    To all who would their features scan.\n\n    Christ sits upon the throne of Light,\n    Rewarding those who loved His Word,\n    Crowning the just with glory bright\n    And penitents His voice that heard.\n\n    Ah, Hovhannes Tulkourantzi,\n    Listen with open heart and ear;\n    Seek out some way diligently\n    To win the crown of glory there.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nLOVE ONE ANOTHER\n\nBy BEDROS TOURIAN\n\n\n    Undying Love, Whose beams forever glow\n    On rose-red Golgotha\u2019s stupendous brow;\n    Wilt Thou those shafts still in Thy bosom keep?\n    What guardest Thou?\u2014bones, spectres, chasms deep,\u2014\n    That in the echoes of the mountain-side\n    Thy noble words, \u201cLove one another,\u201d died?\n\n    Effaced and trampled is the poor man\u2019s tomb;\n    The poor man\u2019s candle flickers out in gloom;\n    And in that darkness starving children weep,\n    While in the palace revels high they keep.\n    The rich man\u2019s carriage dashes gaily past,\n    The beggar\u2019s lonely corpse to earth is cast.\n\n    The pallid angel of Gethsemane\n    Tears doth not heed nor flowers, nor glory\u2019s plea.\n    The poor find rest in his cold arms alone,\n    For in Death\u2019s shroud the high and low are one.\n    Though lightning-winged the winds cry o\u2019er the moor,\n    \u201cLove one another,\u201d here none love the poor.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nPASQUA ARMENA [18]\n\nBy VITTORIA AGANOOR POMPILJ\n\n\n    Non fu di fiele abbeverato? Il petto\n    non gli squarci\u00f2 l\u2019ignobile scherano?\n    Non fu percosso, irriso, e un\u2019empia mano\n    non lo inchiod\u00f2 sul legno maledetto?\n\n    Pur, quale mai pi\u00f9 glor\u00efoso e forte\n    risorgere, se ancor tuona la voce\n    dell\u2019Osanna, e dovunque apre una croce\n    le braccia, dall\u2019idea vinta \u00e8 la morte?\n\n    Armenia, ed anche a te squarciato il seno\n    vedo dai nuovi farisei. Raccolto\n    hanno il fango a scagliartelo sul volto;\n    per dissetarti apprestano il veleno.\n\n    Ma se l\u2019insaz\u00efata orda ferina\n    sulle tue membra flagellate e grame\n    oggi rinnova la tortura infame\n    del Golgota, la tua Pasqua \u00e8 vicina.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\u201cIO VIDI\u201d\n\nBy VITTORIA AGANOOR POMPILJ\n\n\n    Accostarsi all\u2019oscuro\n    mio letto, dalle porte\n    raggianti, io vidi il puro\n    angiolo della morte.\n\n    Una dorata ciocca\n    velava gli occhi suoi:\n    diceva la sua bocca\n    sorridendo:\u2014Mi vuoi?\u2014\n\n    Rapita io nella bianca\n    sua desiata faccia,\n    io, di vane opre stanca,\n    a lui tendo le braccia;\n\n    e, mentre l\u2019affannoso\n    mio cor s\u2019apre alla fede\n    del perfetto riposo\n    che solo egli concede;\n\n    mi sibila vicina\n    una maligna voce:\n    \u201cDestati; ors\u00f9, cammina,\n    ripiglia la tua croce!\u201d\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nARMENIA:\n\nITS EPICS, FOLK-SONGS, AND MEDIAEVAL POETRY\n\nBy ARAM RAFFI\n\n\nThe country that is called Armenia consists of a large plateau, covered\nwith numerous mountain ranges, which are intersected by many valleys\nand passes, as well as by rivers and lesser streams of considerable\ndepth. The climate differs in various parts of the country, the\nmeteorological conditions ranging from frost and snow to extreme heat.\nOver the plains towers Mount Ararat, on which, as we read in the Bible,\nthe Ark rested after the Flood. Here also is the traditional site of\nthe Garden of Eden, and the four rivers mentioned in Genesis as rising\nin the Garden still flow through the Armenian land.\n\nThe origin of the Armenian people is enveloped in mystery, but it is an\nestablished fact that Armenia has had a civilisation of its own from a\nvery early date, and that the Armenians are one of the most ancient\nraces in the world. They have had their periods of independence, but,\non account of its geographical position, Armenia has seldom figured as\none of the great ruling states of the world, although it has repelled\nby arms invasions of such nations as Assyria. Assyrian records are\nfilled with descriptions of conflicts with Armenian kings; King Assur\nNazir Haban (1882\u20131857 B.C.) gives this account of one of his\n\u201cvictories\u201d:\u2014\u201cThey (the people of Ararat, or Urardu) fled to\nthe impregnable mountains so that I might not be able to get at them,\nfor the mighty summits were like drawn swords pointing to the skies.\nOnly the birds of heaven soaring on their wings could reach them. In\nthree days I was there, spreading terror in places where they had taken\nrefuge. Their corpses, like autumn leaves, filled the clefts. The rest\nescaped to distant inaccessible heights.\u201d\n\nNotwithstanding the boasts of the Assyrian kings, they did not succeed\nin permanently crushing the independence of Armenia.\n\nTigranes the Great brought Armenia more in contact with distant foreign\nlands. In his time his country began to be considered of importance by\nGreek and Roman historians. The Romans sent Lucullus to engage in war\nwith Tigranes in order to crush his growing power. This is\nwhat\u2014according to Plutarch\u2014Lucullus said of Tigranes:\u2014\n\n\u201cIn Armenia Tigranes, King of Kings, is seated, surrounded with that\npower which has wrested Asia from the Parthians, which carries Grecian\ncolonies into Media, subdues Syria and Palestine, cuts off the\nSeleucidae and carries their wives and daughters into captivity.\u201d\nCicero says of Tigranes the Great:\u2014\u201cHe made the Republic of Rome\ntremble before the prowess of his arms.\u201d\n\nTo give even a short outline of Armenian folklore and poetry it is\nessential to point out those agencies and influences which have served\nto originate that literature. Hence its literature and history, like\nthose of all countries, are interwoven. Notwithstanding its periods of\ngreatness, Armenia was unable, as we said above, to continue to be a\npowerful and independent state. Thus we see Armenia serving as a bridge\nbetween armies engaged in war, and such has been its fate in all\nperiods, even up to the present time.\n\nIt fell successively under the dominion of Assyria, Babylonia, and,\nfinally, of Persia when, after the time of Cyrus, the kingdom of Persia\nwas extended by Darius over nearly the whole of Asia. Although Armenia\nbecame a tributary of Persia, it still had its own independent king.\n\nThe Median Empire had been founded probably in 677\u2013672 B.C. From that\ntime Iranian influence was strongly felt in the politics, language, and\nsocial organisation of Armenia, and the Iranian religion, with its\nterminology, names of divinities, and many folk-beliefs, permeated\nArmenian paganism.\n\nMoreover, the Armenians, being the near neighbours of the Persians,\nclosely resembled them in their manner of life and their religion.\nAfter the conquest of Alexander the Great, Armenia, like all other\nAsiatic nations, fell under Greek dominion. Then the Macedonian rule\ngave way to the Parthian, and the dynasty of the Arsacidae held sway, a\nking of that race being set over Armenia and founding an independent\nArmenian dynasty. The Arsacidae introduced Greek civilisation and\nculture into Armenia. During this period the character of the Armenians\nchanged. Not only their religion but their manners and customs became\ndifferent from those of the Persians. The rule of Macedonia over\nArmenia lasted 180 years (330\u2013150 B.C.). The Graecophile Arsacid\ndynasty lasted 376 years (150 B.C.-226 A.D.). These long periods\nbrought the Armenians into close contact with the Greeks and separated\nthem from the Persians.\n\nTo the periods which we have outlined belongs the literature of Armenia\npreceding the introduction of Christianity. Of this literature the\nremains that have come down to us consist of legends, songs, and\nfragments of epics. Of the epics we have some records and summaries,\nchiefly found in the History of Moses of Khorene (5th century A.D.),\nwho has also preserved some of the heroic songs in their original form.\nThese epics relate the history of Armenian ancestral and mythical\nheroes, to whom are ascribed the foundation and development of the\nArmenian nation. In them we see Armenian ideals of the earliest times.\nAs these ideals are closely interwoven with the religious beliefs of\nthe pre-Christian period, let us now cast a glance at Armenian\nPaganism.\n\nIt is said by ancient Armenian historians that the Armenians were\noriginally worshippers of the One True God, but they, like all other\nnations, deserted Him and took up with various religions. Sun-worship\nwas one of these; Zoroastrianism also had its turn; in due course, the\nGreeks introduced their own deities; even India succeeded in making its\ninfluence felt. Strabo has it that the Armenians, during the period of\nthe Arsacid dynasty, were of the same religion as the Parthians. It\nappears that the Armenians fused together Zoroastrianism and the\npolytheism of Greece and other nations, thus combining eastern and\nwestern religion. One result of this fusion was that though the\nZoroastrians made no visible representation of their God, the temples\nof Armenia were full of images, brought from Mesopotamia, Asia Minor,\nand Greece.\n\nThe principal god of Armenia was Aramazd, whom the Armenians called\n\u201cthe Architect of the Universe, Creator of Heaven and Earth.\u201d He\nwas also the father of the other gods. The Armenians annually\ncelebrated the festival of this god on the 1st day of Navasard, [19]\nwhen they sacrificed white animals of various kinds\u2014goats, horses,\nmules, with whose blood they filled goblets of gold and silver. The\nmost prominent sanctuaries of Aramazd were in the ancient city of Ani\nin Daranali, the burial-place of the Armenian kings, as well as in the\nvillage of Bagavan in Bagravand. [20]\n\nAramazd had an attendant incorporeal spirit, named Tir or Grogh\n(\u201cwriter\u201d), whom he sent to earth to watch men and record in a book\ntheir good and evil deeds. After death, human souls were conducted by\nTir to Aramazd, who opened the book at each soul\u2019s record, in\naccordance with which he assigned a reward or punishment. In a village\nnear Vargharshapat there was a temple of this god, where the priests\ninterpreted dreams after consulting his oracle. The influence of Tir\nwas great in Armenia, for he was a personification of hope and fear.\nThere are traces of the cult of this god in the Armenian language. It\nis still usual to hear, used as a curse, the expression, \u201cMay Grogh\ntake you!\u201d The son of Aramazd was Mihr, Fire. He guided the heroes in\nbattle and conferred wreaths on the victors. The word mehian\n(\u201ctemple\u201d) is derived from Mihr; also some Christian names. One of\nthe months in the ancient Armenian calendar (Mehekan) was named after\nhim. His commemoration-day was celebrated with great splendour at the\nbeginning of spring. Fires were kindled in the open market-place in his\nhonour, and a lantern lighted from one of these fires was kept burning\nin his temple throughout the year. This custom of kindling fires in the\nspring is still observed in some parts of Armenia. [21]\n\nAlthough the Persians and the Armenians were both worshippers of Mihr,\nthe conceptions and observances of the two nations differed. The\nArmenian sacred fire was invisible, but the Persian was material and\nwas kept up in all the temples. For this reason the Armenians called\nthe Persians fire-worshippers. But the Armenians had also a visible\nfire-god, who, although material, was intangible\u2014the sun\u2014to which\nmany temples were dedicated and after which one of the months (Areg)\nwas named.\n\nLong after the introduction of Christianity, there was a sect of\nsun-worshippers existent in Armenia, who were called \u201cChildren of the\nSun.\u201d A small remnant of them is still supposed to be found, dwelling\nbetween the Tigris and the Euphrates. Traces of sun-worship are also\nevident in the Armenian language and in the Armenian literature of\nChristian times. Some sayings and phrases are still in use which\ncontain references to sun-worship, such as the expression of\nendearment, \u201cLet me die for your sun!\u201d and the oath, \u201cLet the sun\nof my son be witness.\u201d\n\nOne of the most famous Armenian goddesses was Anahit, who answered to\nthe Greek Artemis and the Roman Diana. She was a \u201cpure and spotless\ngoddess,\u201d and, as a daughter of Aramazd, was \u201cmother of\nchastity,\u201d as well as the benefactress of the whole human race;\n\u201cthrough her the Armenian land exists, from her it draws its life;\nshe is the glory of our nation and its protectress\u201d [22]; and for her\nthe ancient Armenians felt intense love and adoration.\n\nMany images and shrines were dedicated to her under the names of \u201cthe\nGolden Mother,\u201d [23] \u201cthe Being of Golden Birth,\u201d etc. Every\nsummer there was a festival in her honour. On that day, a dove and a\nrose were offered to her golden image, whence the day was called\nVardavar, which means \u201cthe flaming of the Rose.\u201d On the\nintroduction of Christianity, the temple of Anahit was destroyed and\nher festival became the Feast of the Transfiguration of Christ; it\nfalls in the last days of the year according to the ancient Armenian\ncalendar; but the name \u201cVardavar\u201d still remains and doves are still\nset flying on that day. This is also the Armenian \u201cwater-day,\u201d\nduring which the people amuse themselves throwing water at each other.\n[24]\n\nAnahit was sought also in cases of great sickness.\n\nThe sister of Anahit was Astghik, [25] the goddess of beauty, a\npersonification of the moon, corresponding to the Phoenician and\nSidonian Astarte. Strange to say, the Persians had no goddess of\nbeauty, but the bright sky of Armenia, its numerous valleys, the\ntorrents running down from snow-capped mountains, the lakes, the\ncultivated fields and meadows tended to strengthen the sense of beauty,\nand, therefore, Armenia had a goddess of beauty, who was not to be\nfound in the pantheon of the neighbouring country.\n\nThe Armenians assigned Astghik a husband worthy of her. He was Vahagn,\ndeified on account of his valour. In ancient songs, he is credited with\na miraculous birth. The fires of heaven and earth, and the sea crimson\nin the light of dawn, travailed to bring him into being. [26] As we\nshall see later, Moses of Khorene has preserved portions of these\nsongs. Vahagn was called Vishapakagh (Uprooter of dragons), as he\ncleared the Armenian land of monsters and saved it from evil\ninfluences. His exploits were known not only in Armenia, but in the\nabode of the gods. Having stolen corn from the barns of King Barsham of\nAssyria, he ran away and tried to hide himself in heaven. From the ears\nhe dropped arose the Milky Way, which is called in Armenia the Track of\nthe Corn-stealer.\n\nThe third daughter of Aramazd was Nan\u00e9 or Noon\u00e9. She was the goddess\nof contrivance. It was believed by the Armenians that contrivance was a\nnecessary power for a woman, because, in the management of the\nhousehold, she had to make big things out of small ones, and\ncircumstances were already against her on account of the vicissitudes\nwhich Armenia was constantly undergoing.\n\nSandaramet, the wife of Aramazd, was an invisible goddess and a\npersonification of the earth. Aramazd sent rain upon her, which brought\nforth the vegetation on the earth. She came to be a synonym of Hades\nand was very frequently referred to as such in theological books and in\nthe hymnary of the Christian Church.\n\nBesides these gods of their own, the Armenians also adopted alien\ndivinities. When Tigranes brought a number of Phoenicians to Armenia as\nprisoners, they brought with them their god Ammon, from whose name\ncomes the word Ammonor, [27] \u201cthe day of Ammon\u201d\u2014the New Year.\nAssyrian, Arab, and other emigrations also led to the introduction of\nforeign deities. An Armenian king, when he brought home captives, also\nintroduced the gods of those captives, whose images were placed in the\ntemples beside those of the native gods that they most closely\nresembled. Even Indian fugitives brought the brother-gods, Demetr and\nGisanes, whose images were not like those of the other gods of Armenia,\nfor the images of the gods of Armenia are, as a rule, small, whereas\nthese were very tall, with long black hair and black faces. There was\nalso a great immigration of Jews into Armenia, and this influenced the\nArmenians in the direction of monotheism. Besides the principal gods,\nthere were also secondary ones. These were spirits, corresponding to\nangels, who acted as guardians to different classes of natural\nobjects:\u2014Kadjk, [28] who occupied the mountains; Parik, who presided\nover flocks; and many others.\n\nWater was honoured in Armenia as a masculine principle. According to\nTacitus (Annals, vi. 37) the Armenians offered horses as sacrifices to\nthe Euphrates, and divined by its waves and foam. Sacred cities were\nbuilt around the river Araxes and its tributaries. Even now there are\nmany sacred springs with healing powers, and the people always feel a\ncertain veneration towards waters in motion.\n\nThere were gods who lived in the waters and destroyed harmful monsters\nof the deep. There was also a god who breathed out a mysterious\natmosphere which destroyed malignant creatures. One wonders whether\nthis is a foreshadowing of the fear of microbes. All the gods of this\nclass were friendly to agriculturists.\n\nThere were also \u201cHaurot-Maurot,\u201d the name of a flower (hyacinthus\nracemosus Dodonei) first mentioned by Agathangelos. The Arabs\nincorporated them in the Quran (ii. 96) as two angels sent down to live\nin Babel in human circumstances.\n\nAlk, who dwelt in the waters, was a very harmful devil. He used to live\nin the corners of houses and stables, and in damp places. He had eyes\nof fire, nails of copper, teeth of iron, and the jaws of a wild boar.\nHe carried a sword of iron in his hand and was a bitter enemy to\npregnant women, near whom he sat at the time their child was born.\n\nThere were nymphs, who were guardians of women. They wandered through\ngardens and amid streams, but were invisible. They attended weddings\nand frequented bathrooms and the women\u2019s quarters in general. These\nnymphs and spirits were innumerable. Every woman was supposed to have a\nguardian nymph. The nymphs were supposed by some to be immortal and\nendowed with perpetual youth; others described them as mortal though\nthey never grew old. There was also a group of male spirits who were\nregarded by some as mortal, by others as immortal. They wandered with\nthe nymphs through forests, gardens, and other open places. They were\nimagined as very tall, with features like those of men; some were\nhalf-man and half-animal. Some were called Parik, \u201cdancers\u201d; others\nHushka parik, \u201cdancers to a melody in a minor key.\u201d\n\nIn some places, even now, a belief in these nymphs (or fairies)\nsurvives. Many stories are told of their beauty, their marvellous\ndancing, and their wondrous music. They are never called by the name of\n\u201cnymphs,\u201d but are spoken of by the people of the country as \u201cour\nbetters.\u201d Still in some parts of Armenia, in May and October, a\nfestival is held annually in honour of them, generally by the women in\nthe Public Baths. They assemble early in the morning and remain till\nlate at night, dancing, eating, and bathing.\n\nBefore the people thought of building temples, they worshipped their\ngods in forests and on mountains. One of these forests was the Forest\nof Sos. According to tradition the son of Ara the Beautiful, Anushavan,\nwho devoted himself to the worship of this sacred place, was called,\nafter the forest, Sos. The priests derived oracles from the rustling of\nthe leaves in this holy wood.\n\nBesides temples, which were numerous in Armenia, there were, all over\nthe country, altars and shrines, as well as images and pictures.\n\nTo sum up, the pre-Christian religion of Armenia was at first a kind of\nnature-worship, which developed into polytheism. There were two\nelements in Armenian religion, the native and the foreign.\n\nBesides nature-worship, there was a recognition, among the Armenians,\nof the Good and Evil Spirit, but predominance was given to the former.\nIt is curious that, in the Armenian pantheon, there is no god of evil,\nand Armenian epic heroes are always described as fighting against evil\nspirits.\n\nIn Armenian epics, the immortals stand in the background, the most\nprominent place being assigned to legendary heroes, to whom poets\nattribute divine descent, thus tracing the origin of the Armenian race\nto the gods. Unfortunately, the greater part of these epics is lost,\nthough a few fragments are preserved, in their original shape, by Moses\nof Khorene.\n\nThe following is one of these fragments, which gives the general\nconception of the gods and the heroes descended from them:\u2014\n\n\u201cGlorious and awful were the former gods. They were the cause of the\ngreatest blessings of the earth; also of the beginning of the world and\nthe generations of men. From them arose a race of giants, with great\nlimbs, fantastical, of stupendous stature, who, in their arrogance,\nconceived the impious idea of tower-building. But by the wrath of the\ngods, a mighty wind arose, overthrowing and shattering the structure.\nThe speech of men was confused; there was general bewilderment.\u201d\n\nAmong the giants mentioned in this passage was Haik, the brave and\nillustrious chief\u2014a famous archer, who is the patronymic hero of\nArmenia, and is described by Moses of Khorene as having curly hair and\nbeing beautiful to look upon, with brawny arms, well-set shoulders, and\nfiery eyes. Recoiling from submission to Belus, he, with his followers,\nwent northwards to the foot of a mountain, where they took up their\nabode. Belus sent emissaries to him, bearing the following message:\u2014\n\n\u201cThou hast departed and hast settled in a chill and frosty region.\nSoften thy hard pride, change thy coldness to geniality; be my subject,\nand come and live a life of ease in my domain. Thus shalt thou find\npleasure.\u201d\n\nHaik\u2019s answer was to prepare for combat. The fights between Haik and\nBelus are minutely recounted. The dress of the two champions, their\nlooks, their weapons, are all described in detail. At last Belus was\nvanquished and slain by his adversary.\n\nBefore the time of Moses of Khorene, Haik was known as a great hunter\nlike the Greek Orion. In the passages in Job and Isaiah where\n\u201cOrion\u201d appears in the English Bible as the name of a\nconstellation, \u201cHaik\u201d appears in the Armenian version.\n\nThe country that Haik conquered was named Hayastan, after him.\n\nHe was succeeded by Armenak, who extended the boundaries of his\nkingdom. This expansion is thus described by Moses of Khorene:\u2014\n\n\u201cArmenak, taking with him all his host, goes to the north-east. He\ndescends on a plain surrounded by high mountains, through which, from\nthe west, murmuring streams flow. The plain extends towards the east.\nFrom the foot of the mountains gush springs no less limpid, mingling\ntogether to form little rivers, which, with gentle flow, run round the\nedge of the plain, parallel to the base of the mountains.\n\n\u201cBut the southern mountain, with its white peak, at first rises\nstraight up; afterwards it curves, looking beside the other heights\nlike a hoary stooping elder amid youths.\u201d\n\nArmenak was succeeded by Aramais. This king took up his abode on a hill\nbeside a river, where he built a town which he named Aramavir. The\nriver he called by the name of his grandson, Araxes. He had a son,\nnamed Shara, who was a glutton and had an immense number of children.\nHe sent him to a very fertile place which was called, after him,\nShirak. Moses of Khorene quotes a proverb relating to Shara:\u2014\u201cIf\nthou hast the gullet of a Shara, our stores are not the stores of a\nShirak.\u201d\n\nShara had a son, Amasa. After him Mount Ararat was named \u201cMasis.\u201d\n\nMoses of Khorene mentions another descendant of Haik, whose name was\nTork. He was ugly and of tremendous strength. He was able to break\ngreat stones with his hands. Once, when he was on the shore of the Sea\nof Pontus, he hurled huge rocks at the ships of his enemies and sank\nthem. This incident reminds us of the Cyclops Polyphemus, in the\nOdyssey. Tork had also artistic proclivities. After dividing large\nstones with his hands, he smoothed them with his nails, and with his\nnails covered them with drawings of eagles and other pictures. [29]\n\nThen the historian gives a table of royal names down to Aram, whom he\ndescribes as industrious and patriotic, and who said that he would\nrather die for his fatherland than endure the sight of strangers\ndevastating it. He collected an army of 50,000 and drove the foreign\ninvaders out of Armenia. Epic poems, according to Moses of Khorene,\npraise Aram\u2019s valour in his conflicts with Barsham, King of Assyria,\nwhom he eventually subdued. He was succeeded by Ara the Beautiful.\n\nThe romantic love of Semiramis for this king, which was a favourite\ntheme of ancient Armenian song and epic, is elaborately recounted by\nMoses of Khorene. A translation of his narrative is given on page 23 of\nthis volume. There are several variants of this story, which is still\nrelated in Armenia, and the names of many places as well as many\nsuperstitions can be traced to it.\n\nSemiramis invited Ara to Nineveh to be her husband, promising him the\nhalf of the kingdom, but Ara refused her offer, having a wife already.\nSemiramis thereupon sent an army against Ara, with orders to capture\nthe king alive and bring him to her; but, instead of the living king,\nthey brought his corpse. Semiramis, who, as is well known, was wont to\npractise magic, laid the body on a certain high place, in order that\nthe gods might descend and restore it to life by licking the wounds.\nThis height is still called Lezk, and in former times others used it\nfor the same purpose as Semiramis. The idea of this mode of cure\nprobably originated from the fact that wounded men, lying unconscious\non the battlefield, have often been revived by the licking of dogs and\nother animals.\n\nIn Moses of Khorene we find this story about the childhood of Sanatruk.\nOne day, he, under the care of his mother and his nurse, was walking\namong the mountains of Kordua, when suddenly a high wind arose,\naccompanied by a snowstorm, and separated the mother from her son. For\nthree days and nights the nurse and the child were buried in the snow,\nbut the gods sent a miraculous white animal which rescued them and\nbrought them home alive. [30]\n\nBut, though such legends as these may have some foundation in fact,\nthere are others that are entirely fabulous, like the following, which\nis related by Moses of Khorene:\u2014\n\nThe heir to the principality of Ardzruni, when a boy, fell asleep in\nthe open air. A storm of rain came on and drenched him; and then the\nhot sun shone down and scorched him with its rays; whereupon an eagle\nflew up and hovered over his head with outspread wings, sheltering him\nfrom the assaults of nature.\n\nIn the fourth century A.D., we find a similar story told of Prince\nMushegh Mamikonian. After his death his relatives put his body on a\nhigh tower, believing that the spirits would descend and restore him to\nlife. This story is found in Faustus Byzand (A.D. 337\u2013384).\n\nThe animals figuring in such stories as these are not represented as\nmerely adjuncts to man, but as independent individuals who act in\naccordance with their own characters and inclinations. Plato, in his\nRepublic, gives a slightly different version of the legend of Ara. Er\nwas an Armenian (or, as some commentators say, \u201cThe son of\nArmenios\u201d), a native of Pamphylia. He was slain in battle, and ten\ndays afterwards, when the bodies of the dead were taken up, already in\na state of corruption, his body was found unaffected by decay and\ncarried away home to be buried. And on the twelfth day, as he was lying\non the funeral pile, he returned to life and told them what he had seen\nin the other world.\n\nThe name \u201cEr\u201d is evidently a variant of Ara. The story, as told by\nPlato, has all the features of a transplanted legend.\n\nMoses of Khorene says that, after the death of Ara the Beautiful,\nSemiramis passed the rest of her days in Armenia, which place she\ngreatly loved. Here she established the city of Van. A picturesque\naccount of its foundation given by the historian is included in this\nvolume (page 33).\n\nThe following account is given of the end of Semiramis:\u2014\n\nBeing pursued by her enemies, she ran away on foot, and, becoming\nthirsty, she stopped to drink water from the Lake of Van. Here she was\novertaken by the \u201cswordsmen,\u201d whereupon, after taking off her magic\nbracelet and throwing it into the lake, she herself was turned into\nstone.\n\nWith regard to the bracelet of Semiramis, the following story is even\nnow commonly told in the neighbourhood of Van:\u2014\n\nOnce Semiramis saw a bracelet in the hands of some little boys, who had\nfound it in the river, and were examining it with curiosity. Semiramis,\nknowing that the bracelet had magic powers, took it away from the\nchildren. By means of this jewel, she allured youths to their\ndestruction. This licentiousness brought her into general disfavour. An\nold man, at last, snatched the bracelet from her and ran with it\ntowards the sea. Semiramis rushed after him in a fury, but, not being\nable to come up with him, she let down her long hair and used it as a\nsling to hurl a great rock at him. The weight of the rock pulled out\nher hair. The rock itself fell into a ditch near Artamet. Semiramis,\nthrough fear and amazement, was turned into stone. The old man threw\nthe bracelet into the Lake of Van. Even now a rock is shown at Artamet\nwhich bears the name of \u201cthe Rock of Semiramis.\u201d\n\nThen Moses of Khorene speaks of Tigranes I., who, in conjunction with\nCyrus, put an end to the kingdom of Media. The epics say of Tigranes\nthat \u201chis face was of lovely hue, his eyes were soft and lustrous,\nhis shoulders stalwart, the calves of his legs were well-shaped, he was\naltogether fair to look upon; in food and drink he was moderate; he was\nof lofty mind, eloquent in speech, and masterly in the conduct of\naffairs. Just and equitable, he weighed each man\u2019s acts in the scale\nof his mind. He was not jealous of the great nor did he despise men of\nlow estate, but spread the mantle of his care over all men alike. He\nincreased our treasures of gold, silver, and precious stones. Under\nhim, men and women wore fine garments, of divers colours, richly\nembroidered, which made the ill-favoured to look fair and the beautiful\nto look like demi-gods.\n\n\u201cTigranes, the bringer of peace and prosperity, caused all men to\ngrow fat with butter and honey. In his day, the infantry became\ncavalry, slingers became skilful archers, dagger-bearers were equipped\nwith swords, and naked soldiers were provided with shields and\narmour.\u201d\n\nThe historian adds that the splendour of the arms and equipments was\nenough of itself to drive back the enemy.\n\nAs the head of a band of warriors, he performed many valorous\ndeeds:\u2014\u201cWe were under the yoke of others, but he put other nations\nunder our yoke and made them our tributaries.\u201d\n\nHis rival, Astyages, King of Media, was always suspicious and\ndistrustful of him.\n\nOne night Astyages had a terrible dream. The next morning he summoned\nhis courtiers. They found him sighing, looking on the ground with\ngloomy mien, and heaving groans from the depths of his heart. \u201cWhen\nthe courtiers inquired the reason of his behaviour\u201d (continues the\nhistorian) \u201cthe king remained silent for hours, then in a sad voice\nhe related his dream, which was as follows:\u2014\n\n\u201c\u2018To-day I was in an unknown country, close to a mountain, which\nrose very high above the ground; its summit was covered with ice. It\nseemed to me to be in Armenia. After I had gazed for a long time, it\nappeared to me that there was a woman sitting on the summit. Her\ngarments were purple. Her face was covered by a blue veil. Her eyes\nwere beautiful. She was tall, with rosy cheeks. She was in travail, and\nfor a long time I looked on her with admiration, then I beheld her give\nbirth to three heroes, all of equal stature: the first, sitting on a\nlion, soared towards the west; the second, seated on a leopard, went\ntowards the north; the third, bridling a huge dragon, defiantly\nattacked our kingdom. In these confused dreams, I seemed to be standing\non the roof of my palace, and the covering of my chambers was adorned\nwith beautiful fountains of variegated colours. The gods that had\ncrowned me were standing there, with wondrous faces, and I, with you,\nwas honouring them with incense and sacrifice. Suddenly looking up, I\nsaw the man who was seated on the dragon wing his course in our\ndirection, desiring to overthrow our gods. I advanced to the attack and\nengaged in fight with that youthful hero. First of all, with lances we\npierced each other\u2019s bodies, calling forth rivers of blood, and past\nour sunlit palace flowed a crimson sea. For hours we fought also with\nother arms. But, to be brief, the fight ended in my defeat. I was\nbathed in sweat, sleep forsook me, and ever since I have felt as if I\nhad no life in me. For all these visions signify that the Armenian\nking, Tigranes, is about to attack us. And whosoever amongst you, by\ncounsel or deeds, wishes to aid me, and aspires to the honour of being\na king, equal to myself, let him speak.\u2019\u201d\n\nThen the story goes on to tell how Astyages, in order to prevent\nTigranes from making war on him, proposed that his rival\u2019s sister,\nTigranuhi, should be his wife; therefore Astyages sent to Tigranes one\nof his councillors with a letter accompanied by many precious gifts.\nMoses of Khorene gives the letter, which runs as follows:\u2014\n\n\u201cThou knowest, beloved brother, that of all the gifts of the gods to\nus none is more precious than the multitude of our dear ones,\nespecially when they are wise and valiant. The reason of this is that,\nin such case, quarrels will not arise from outside, and if they arise,\nthey will be unable to make their way within and will disperse\nthemselves. Having seen the great advantage of such relationships, it\nhas entered my mind to confirm and strengthen the love that is between\nus, so that, both of us being secured on all sides, we may be able to\ncarry on the affairs of our kingdom in greater safety. All this will be\nensured, if thou wilt give me to wife thy sister Tigranuhi, the Great\nLady of Armenia. I hope that thou wilt look favourably on this\nproposal, that she may be the Queen of Queens. Mayest thou have a long\nlife, fellow sovereign and dear brother.\u201d\n\nWe have presented this letter as a matter of curiosity, because in none\nof the early European epics are there texts of letters. This usage is\ncharacteristically oriental. In Isaiah we read of the letter of\nSennacherib to Hezekiah; there is also a letter in the Persian\nFirdusi\u2019s Shah-nameh.\n\nAfter his marriage with Tigranuhi, Astyages tried to set her at enmity\nwith her brother, and once he contrived cunningly to entice Tigranes to\nbecome his guest in order that he might slay him. But his wife\nperceived his treachery and secretly sent a message to her brother.\nTigranes accepted the invitation of Astyages, but came accompanied by a\ngreat army. He postponed his attack till his sister had made her\nescape. In the battle which ensued, Astyages was killed.\n\nOf this Tigranes, Xenophon says a great deal in his Cyropaedia, from\nwhich we cite the following incident:\u2014\n\nThe Armenian king having revolted against Cyrus, the latter invaded\nArmenia and conquered him. Cyrus intended to deal very severely with\nthe rebel monarch, but Tigranes, the son of the Armenian king,\npersuaded him to be more lenient. Xenophon gives a long conversation,\ndiscussing the terms of peace, in the course of which Cyrus asked\nTigranes, who was newly married and greatly loved his wife, what he\nwould give to regain her freedom, she having fallen into the hands of\nthe victor, together with the other women of the royal family.\n\u201cCyrus,\u201d was the Prince\u2019s reply, \u201cto save her from servitude, I\nwould lay down my life.\u201d\n\nOn which Cyrus replied: \u201cTake, then, thine own, for I cannot reckon\nthat she is properly our captive, for thou didst never flee from us.\u201d\nThen, turning to the king, he added: \u201cAnd thou, Armenian, take thy\nwife and children, without paying anything for them, that they may know\nthey come to thee freely.\u201d\n\nOn the return of the king and prince, after this interview, there was\nmuch talk at the Armenian court about Cyrus; one spoke of his wisdom,\nanother of his patience and resolution, another of his mildness; one\nalso spoke of his beauty, his fine figure and lofty stature, whereupon\nTigranes turned to his wife, saying: \u201cDost thou think Cyrus\nhandsome?\u201d\n\n\u201cIndeed,\u201d she answered, \u201cI never looked at him.\u201d \u201cAt whom,\nthen, didst thou look?\u201d asked Tigranes. \u201cAt him,\u201d was the reply,\n\u201cwho said that, to save me from servitude, he would give his own\nlife.\u201d\n\nOf all the epics from which Moses of Khorene has derived incidents or\nof which he gives fragments, the only one that has survived among the\npeople in complete form, with numerous variants, is Sasmadzrer. There\nis a reference in the Bible to the story which is related in this poem.\n\nIn 2 Kings xix. 37, and Isaiah xxxvii. 38, we read:\u2014\n\n\u201cAnd it came to pass, as he (Sennacherib) was worshipping in the\nhouse of Nisroch his god, that Adramelech and Sharezer, his sons, smote\nhim with the sword; and they escaped into the land of Armenia.\u201d\n\nMoses of Khorene tells the same story, adding that the Armenian king\nassigned an abode to Sharezer in the south of Armenia and to Adramelech\nin the south-east.\n\nThe epic, referred to above, relates the doings of the two brothers and\ntheir descendants in Armenia, among the rest the founding by them of\nthe city of Sassoon.\n\nThe poem is divided into four parts. It is still transmitted orally,\nword for word, in Armenia; in many places in poetical form. During the\nlast forty years, several versions of it have been taken down in\nwriting and published, and these have received much attention from\nscholars. We cannot do more than mention this most interesting\nproduction; the space at our disposal forbids our giving even an\noutline of its contents.\n\nSo far we have derived our information from the prose versions of\npassages in the epics found in Moses of Khorene either as quotations or\nas paraphrased in his own words. But that historian has also given a\nfew extracts from the poems in their original form, being the first\nhistorian to do so. To these extracts we now turn.\n\nAlthough they are very few, they convey some idea of ancient Armenian\npoetry. The historian says he has himself heard these poems sung to the\naccompaniment of various musical instruments, of which he gives long\nand minute descriptions. According to him, these poems were sung\nchiefly in the province of Goghtan (the present Agulis, in Russian\nArmenia). This place abounded in gardens and vineyards, and produced a\nvariety of good wines. The people were gay and fond of merry-making.\nTheir love of the old pagan religion and manners still continued long\nafter their conversion to Christianity. In this respect they resembled\nthe Saxons of Germany, and, even in the early part of the fifth\ncentury, they observed pagan rites, sometimes openly, sometimes\nsecretly. One of the old Armenian songs, describing the birth of the\nArmenian king Vahagn, is given in this volume, page 10. This is\nsupposed to be a myth describing the rise of the sun over the sea.\n\nAt sunrise the sky gradually becomes light; between the light and the\ndarkness there is a kind of struggle; all nature is waiting in\nexpectancy of a life-giving power, of the rising of the sun. It seems\nto be this expectancy of nature and man that the poet likens to the\ntravail of heaven, earth, and sea. The \u201ccrimson reed\u201d is perhaps\nthe long red gleam sent forth from the East over the sea at dawn.\n\nWe have already referred to Vahagn when dealing with Armenian\nmythology. In the Armenian translation of the Bible, in 2 Maccabees iv.\n19, the name \u201cVahagn\u201d is substituted for \u201cHercules.\u201d This name\nis derived from the Sanscrit words vah, \u201cto bring,\u201d and agn,\n\u201cfire,\u201d and therefore means \u201cfire-bringer.\u201d In connection with\nthis, it is interesting to compare the Armenian legend with a similar\nlegend in the Rig-Veda. The word \u201cAgni\u201d is the same as \u201cAgn.\u201d\nThe god Agni was born of the rising sun, to the accompaniment of\nthunder and lightning; of Vahagn the song says: \u201cOut of the flame\nsprang the child.\u201d \u201cHis hair was of fire and a beard had he of\nflame\u201d; Agni had \u201cflaming hair and a golden beard.\u201d A comparison\nof the two poems shows that the similarity between them arises, not\nfrom the imitation of one poet by the other, but from identity of\ntheme, for the belief in a fire-god or fire-hero is common to all\nmythologies. According to Agathangelos, Vahagn was a favourite deity,\nand his temple at Taron was famous. King Tiridates, when greeting the\nArmenian people in a manifesto, says: \u201cMay Vahagn, of all Armenia,\nsend you courage!\u201d He puts the name of Vahagn after the names of\nAramazd and Anahit. But, in Moses of Khorene, Vahagn is little more\nthan an ordinary king, the son of Tigranes I., though the historian\ngives the story of his birth and his fights with dragons, as related by\nthe poets. He also calls Vahagn the first of the Vahuni or priestly\ncaste; but this caste was far more ancient than the historian thinks,\nas sun worship is one of the oldest forms of religion. [31]\n\nMoses of Khorene says, moreover, that there was an image of Vahagn in\nGeorgia, where he was worshipped as a god.\n\nAs to the form of this poem\u2014we note the parallelism, similar to that\nof the old Hebrew songs: \u201cTo Sisera a prey of diverse colours, a prey\nof diverse colours of needlework, of diverse colours of needlework, on\nboth sides\u201d (Judges v. 30). [32]\n\nThe Song of Deborah, from which we have just quoted, is supposed to be\nthe oldest passage in the Bible, and is a good specimen of ancient\noriental poetry.\n\nThe songs quoted in Moses of Khorene are also examples of this poetry,\nand will therefore be welcome to scholars, as throwing light on this\nclass of ancient literature.\n\nThe ancient Armenian form of verse has, doubtless, its own national\npeculiarities. One of its characteristics is that it consists of one\nmain idea expressed in two or more sentences, regularly connected with\none another. There are no complex sentences, only short simple ones,\nand the manner of expression is direct and definite, but, in order that\nthey may not tire the ear by monotony, they are, by means of\nparallelism, systematically interwoven so as to form one consistent\nwhole. Thus the different sentences become related to one leading\nthought. The words are carefully chosen and harmonious to the ear.\nMetaphor and allegory abound. In colour and splendour these songs might\nvie with any classical poem, and their existence is a proof that long\nbefore the Christian era the Armenians had a perfected poetical\nlanguage, which, in its construction, imaginative force, brilliancy,\nand grammatical development, bears the impress of literary culture.\n\nMost of the nouns and adjectives in this poem are in the diminutive\nform, which expresses endearment:\u2014\n\n\n              karmrik     =   reddish\n              achkunk     =   little eyes\n              egheknik    =   little reed\n              aregakunk   =   little suns\n              patanekik   =   little boy\n\n\nThe adjectives used here do not qualify the nouns, but simply serve as\nepithets, or attributes, like the adjectives in the Homeric poems. The\nArmenian word dzirani, [33] used in this poem, does not always mean\n\u201cred\u201d; applied to a robe it means \u201cred,\u201d applied to a belt it\nmeans \u201cvariegated\u201d; it may originally have had the sense of\n\u201cpleasing\u201d (cf. Russian krasni, which originally meant\n\u201cbeautiful,\u201d but now denotes only \u201cred-coloured\u201d).\n\nAnother of these extant songs, belonging to the time before the\nChristian era, has, as its theme, the love story of King Artashes II.,\none of the greatest kings of the Arsacid dynasty. The former, as well\nas all the other stories we have mentioned, belong to the Haikazian\ndynasty, but the story of Artashes II. belongs to the Arsacid dynasty\nand is contained in the second book of Moses of Khorene, the contents\nof which are less legendary than those of the first book. When\nnarrating the story of Artashes, the historian addresses himself to\nSahak Bagratuni, by whose command his history was written, in these\nterms:\u2014\n\n\u201cThe doings of Artashes are known to thee, through the epical songs\nwhich are sung in the province of Goghtan; that is to say, his founding\nof Artaxata (Artashat), [34] his alliance by marriage with the royal\nhouse of the Alans, his sons and their descendants, the loves of\nSatenik with the Vishapazuns (progeny of dragons) who were of the race\nof Astyages; his wars with them, the overthrow of their dynasty, their\nslaughter, the burning of their palaces, the rivalries of the sons of\nArtashes, the intrigues of their wives, which further fomented the\ndiscord amongst them. Although these things are well known to thee\nthrough the epical songs, I will, nevertheless, narrate them again and\nwill explain their allegorical meaning.\u201d\n\nThen Moses of Khorene gives, in detail, a prose account of the deeds of\nArtashes and his son Artavazd, as they are related in the epic of\nArtashes, quoting, in the course of his narrative, the songs given in\nthis volume on pages 48 and 49.\n\nBesides these songs, there are included in the history two or three\nmetrical lines, which must be extracts from the epic. One of these\nlines contains the reply of the Alan king when he is asked to give his\ndaughter in marriage to Artashes: \u201cFrom whence shall brave ...\u201d\n(see for the rest page 48, the last lines, in this volume). The same\npoem contains a description of the wedding (see page 49 of this\nvolume).\n\nWe learn from ancient Armenian historians that weddings were times of\ngreat festivity, especially royal weddings. All the people of the\ncountry, old and young, were astir. In the great square they danced and\nsang, hand in hand. There was a special kind of song sung on these\noccasions, called \u201cTzutzk.\u201d\n\nThe marriage of Satenik was unhappy, because, besides the Vishapazuns,\nshe loved Argavan, the chief of the Median prisoners, who was greatly\nhonoured by Artashes. Another of the verses quoted by Moses of Khorene\nrefers to this amour of Satenik. These lines throw some light on the\nnature of ancient Armenian metre. We quote the text here:\u2014\n\n\n                \u201cTencha Satenik tenchans\n                Zartakhoir khavart\n                Ev ztitz khavardzi\n                I bardzitzn Argavana.\u201d\n\n\nThe sense of the passage is not very clear, as it contains two words\nthe signification of which is disputed. M. Emin holds that the meaning\nof these two words is the same, both signifying \u201ccrown,\u201d and he\ninterprets the line as saying that Satenik loves Argavan so dearly that\nshe would gladly exchange her royal crown for his princely diadem.\nAfter much controversy among scholars, Professor Khalatian discovered\nthat, in one Armenian dialect, these words are the names of certain\nplants, about which there was a superstition that, if they were put\nunder the pillow of the beloved being, and afterwards under the pillow\nof the lover, mutual affection would be ensured; therefore, according\nto Professor Khalatian, the passage means that Satenik was desirous of\ngetting these plants from under Argavan\u2019s pillow.\n\nIn the time of Artashes science and poetry flourished.\n\nOne of the sons of this king, Vroir, was a poet; another was Artavazd,\nwho was disliked by the people. The poem says that, when the prince was\nborn, the Vishapazuns stole him, and substituted a devil in his place,\nand it was this evil spirit that went by the name of Prince Artavazd.\n\nIn this poem, also, there is an account of the obsequies of Artashes,\nwhich were celebrated with great splendour, for he was dearly beloved\nby his subjects, many of whom committed suicide at his grave, not\ncaring to survive him. His son Artavazd, who was present, became very\njealous and uttered a complaint which Moses of Khorene gives in the\nwords of the epic (see page 65 of this volume).\n\nWe have omitted many other incidents of the story of Artashes, as given\nby Moses of Khorene, but it may be gathered, from what we have of the\nArtashes epic, that the whole poem was very lengthy.\n\nFrom other sources we know that the poem was sung by minstrels as late\nas the eleventh century, for the well-known scholar of that time,\nGrigor Magistros, says in one of his writings that he has heard it, and\nhe quotes some of its lines in their original form.\n\nArtashes died in a foreign country while engaged in a campaign. In his\nlast moments he is seized with home-sickness, as he remembers his\nfatherland. He recalls the spring of life and of the year, when the\nlight of dewy morn, like a thin mist, is spreading over the towns and\nvillages. The poem gives his dying words:\u2014\n\n\n  \u201cWho will give me the smoke of the chimneys and the morn of Navasard, [35]\n  The running of the stag and the coursing of the deer?\n  We sounded the horn and beat the drum\n  As is the manner of kings.\u201d\n\n\nWe have already said that Artashes was a popular king, much beloved by\nhis people, whose death was greatly lamented; this being so, no doubt\nthe Artashes epic must have contained some striking dirges, composed in\nhonour of this monarch, but unfortunately neither Moses of Khorene nor\nGrigor Magistros records any such songs in connection with him. The\ndespair and melancholy which cast their shadow over pagans is\nconspicuous in ancient Armenian funeral songs. There were companies of\nprofessional mourners, called egheramark (\u201cmothers of\nlamentation\u201d), also there were groups of singing maidens. All these\nfollowed the corpse, dressed in black, with dishevelled hair, solemnly\nclapping their hands and moving in a slow dance. Moses of Khorene gives\ndetails of such obsequies as we have mentioned. Even now in some parts\nof Armenia such companies of mourners exist. Faustus Byzand describes\nminutely the funeral of a prince and gives also an account of the\nfuneral of Queen Tigranuhi, of whom we have already spoken, adding that\nthe songs sung in her praise, on this occasion, were such that Tigranes\nfelt that they uttered all that was passing in his own mind.\n\nThe subjects of funeral songs were the life of the deceased, his\nstature, the manner of his death, and his domestic relations, so that a\ncollection of these songs would furnish a biography.\n\nWe have also details of these dirges from other sources. The song opens\nwith a prologue, addressing the deceased and calling on him to arise\nfrom his slumbers and carry on his usual occupations. It then goes on\nto rebuke him for being deaf to the prayers of the survivors and\nvouchsafing neither word nor smile. Next comes a description of the new\ndwelling that the departed has chosen for himself; the grave\u2014an abode\nwithout doors or windows. Then comes a repetition of the words spoken\nby the dead man during his last illness, followed by a series of\nlaudatory epithets, and finally there is the recognition that all\nprayers for his recovery have been unanswered, followed by an epilogue,\ntaking farewell of the deceased and sending messages by him to dead\nrelatives and friends.\n\nWe learn from Moses of Khorene that, in his time, besides the epics,\nthere was other pre-Christian Armenian literature, written and\nunwritten, of various kinds. We have had examples of songs and epical\nstories in their gradual development from the stage when man was weak\nand ignorant, when the people sought after the supernatural and the\nmarvellous, and the subject of epic songs was the mystic relation\nbetween nature and man, to the stage when the heroes are no longer\ngods, but men endowed with valour and every other virtue, without spot\nor flaw. The stories we have described are sufficient to prove that\nArmenia had a large store of epic and heroic poems, of which unhappily\nonly fragments have come down to us.\n\nSome specimens of other branches of pre-Christian literature figuring\nin the list of Moses of Khorene are Temple Books and Histories of\nTemples. Throughout ancient times members of the priestly class were\nthe chroniclers of the nation\u2019s history and its instructors in\nwisdom; and there is no doubt that this was the case in Armenia. We\nknow that the famous Gnosticos Bardazan, in the second century A.D.,\ncame to Armenia to collect material for his history, and in the\nfortress of Ani he made extracts from the Temple History, which was a\nchronicle of the doings of the Armenian kings.\n\nArmenia had its own written histories which were, for the most part,\ndestroyed on the introduction of Christianity in the fourth century\nA.D. Moses of Khorene mentions an Armenian historian named Ughup, who\nwas a priest presiding over the temple of Ani in 150 B.C.\n\nTo continue the list\u2014we find Books of the Kings, containing\nchronicles of kings and their works, and Collections of Historical\nSongs, which were kept in the temples. These collections were in\nexistence in the fifth century A.D. Moses of Khorene gives extracts\nfrom them and they were also sung by minstrels.\n\nTueliatz Songs recounted the doings of kings and princes in\nchronological order, hence their name, Tueliatz, or chronicles.\n\nThere were also other species of literature, such as Historical\nLegends, not included in the list, from which Moses of Khorene makes\nquotations elsewhere, such as the History of the Origin of the\nBagratuni Race, the History of Haik, and four other books, without\ntitles, of which he speaks with great admiration.\n\nThere is mention of a poet, by name David, who wrote The Wars between\nArmenia and Media, founding his narrative on Armenian minstrel songs.\nUnfortunately, none of his works have come down to us.\n\nThere is also mention of an Armenian translation, from the Greek, of an\nepic called Legends of Aramasdes and Hermia. Some scholars think that\nthis must be one of the lost books of Homer, as there are still extant\nsome fragments of an Armenian translation of the Homeric poems.\n\nThe Hindoos believed that originally dramas were invented by the gods\nand were performed in heaven. They were brought to earth by Brahma and\nintroduced to men. Whether the ancient Armenians held a similar belief\nwe cannot tell, but it appears that they had, in early times, a drama\nof their own. The themes of their plays were the doings of the gods of\nthe earth, but there is no record that in Armenia drama ever reached\nsuch a high level as it attained in Greece. It may be noticed that,\nthough Persia, the neighbour of Armenia, was rich in lyric and epic\npoetry, it produced no dramatic literature. It is true that, in\nMohammedan times, the Persians had a religious drama; but this merely\nformed part of their worship and has never had an independent\ndevelopment.\n\nBut the Armenians must have done better, as mention is made of Armenian\ndrama by Greek and Roman writers, from whom we learn that King Artavazd\nI. [36] wrote tragedies, some of which were known to Plutarch. We also\nlearn from Plutarch and others that, in the time of Tigranes II., there\nwere theatres in Armenia, and Plutarch records that, when Lucullus\nentered Tigranocerta, he found a body of actors busily engaged in\npreparing to produce a drama in the theatre newly built by Tigranes,\nand made use of them in the games and other public diversions in honour\nof his victory. Armenian historians also make mention of the theatres\nin Armenia. As late as the fifth century A.D., Hovhannes Mandakuni, a\nreligious author, wrote an essay against theatres and actors, which\nshows that, even after the introduction of Christianity, drama survived\nin Armenia.\n\nAt later periods, in Law Books, restrictions on theatres are mentioned.\n\nIn order to determine the date of the Heroic Poems, we must define the\ndifferent periods of Armenian history. It is now generally accepted by\nscholars that, towards the end of the seventh century B.C., the Vannic\nor Chaldean kingdom fell before the invading hordes of Cimmerians or\nScythians, and, during the period of anarchy, Armenians also entered\nthe country, which was henceforth to bear the name of \u201cArmenia.\u201d\nThe only uncertainty with regard to this migration is about the date.\nIt is universally agreed that it cannot have been later than the\nseventh century B.C., though it may have been earlier. In the fifth\ncentury B.C. Xenophon found Armenia an established kingdom under\nTigranes I. Vahe was the last of the Haikazian dynasty. He fell in the\nwar with Alexander the Great in 330 B.C.\n\nThe next Armenian dynasty was that of the Arsacidae, of which the first\nking was Wagharshag I., whose reign began in 149 B.C.\n\nAll the epical songs that we have mentioned belong to the Haikazian\nperiod, except the Artashes Cycle, which belongs to the Arsacid period.\nDuring the 185 years between these two periods, there was no national\nindependence to supply themes for new epics and therefore there is no\nheroic poetry belonging to this interval.\n\nThe second period of Armenian literature (before the establishment of\nChristianity) extends from the accession of the Arsacid dynasty to the\nfourth century A.D.\n\nDuring this period, learning flourished and the libraries in the\ntemples and palaces were the centre of culture. The libraries in\npalaces were open to any one who wished to consult the archives with a\nview to writing histories of the countries, and in the temples the\npriests were engaged in compiling records of the past. In these\nlibraries the histories of the Haikazian dynasty were kept. To this\nperiod belongs the epic of Artashes.\n\nUnder the rule of the Arsacidae, the number of the nobles greatly\nincreased and the chief amusement of the king and the nobility was\nsport. Nearly every noble had his own park, which was full of all kinds\nof deer and in which special sporting parties were given. One of the\nchief attractions of these parties was the minstrels who sang songs\nspecially composed for the occasion. As upwards of seventy families\nwere ennobled under the Arsacidae, and entertainments were given both\nby them and by those of lower rank, it will be understood that the\nnumber of minstrels must have been large.\n\nAs we have mentioned, to this period belongs the Artashes Cycle (A.D.\n85\u2013126).\n\nWe have also some evidence as to the date of the epics from foreign\nsources. Armenian epics must have been known, not only in Armenia\nitself, but in other countries. In migration, their form must sometimes\nhave changed, as, in Plato, we have found the legend of Ara transformed\ninto the story of Er. As the story of Ara was known to Plato, we may\ntake for granted that it existed in the fourth century B.C.\n\nStrabo gives an erroneous etymology of the name \u201cArmenia,\u201d which he\nderives from \u201cArmenios.\u201d [37] Perhaps he had heard of Aram, whose\nstory is told in the epics. This story is known to us through Moses of\nKhorene, who derives the word \u201cArmenia\u201d from Aram, and says that\nthe country was called by this name only by foreigners. As to the\netymology of the word \u201cArmenia,\u201d there are many different opinions\nwhich we cannot discuss here; we will only say that the name\n\u201cArmenia\u201d is found in an inscription of Darius Hystaspes (510\nB.C.).\n\nWe confine ourselves to one more foreign reference to Armenian epics,\nviz., that of the philosopher Olympiodorus, who, in an assembly of wise\nmen at Athens, gave an account of an old book which had existed in\nformer times and which contained the history of Noah and his\ndescendants. He added that the incidents related in this book were\nstill sung by Armenian minstrels to the accompaniment of various\nmusical instruments.\n\nWe have frequently quoted Moses of Khorene, whose work contains all the\nextant remains of the epics and all the information that has come down\nto us with regard to these poems. In fact the first book of his\nHistory, as well as the first nine chapters of Book II., consists of\nsummaries and quotations from epics, together with other legends. In\ntaking leave of the pre-Christian period of Armenia let us cast a\nglance on this historian and his work.\n\nMoses of Khorene was born some time between A.D. 404 and 408. He was\none of those young Armenians who were sent by the ecclesiastical\nauthorities to Greece for higher education. After completing his\nstudies, he worked in the libraries of Alexandria, Palestine, and other\nplaces. On his return from Palestine, he was shipwrecked on the coast\nof Italy; thence he went to Rome, Athens, and Byzantium, returning to\nArmenia about 440. He found his benefactors dead, the Arsacid dynasty\nextinct, and Christianity endangered by the Persians. It is said that\non his return he was so disappointed in both the clergy and the\nlaity\u2014being especially grieved by the ignorance of the former\u2014that\nhe retired into solitude and remained concealed for some time. It\nhappened that the Catholicos Gute, while travelling, alighted at a\ncertain village where he was entertained by the peasants, each of whom\nmade a short speech in his honour. An old man who was of the company\nwas urged also to say something. At first he excused himself on the\nplea that he was a stranger, but, on being further pressed, to the\nsurprise of all present, he recited an impromptu ode greeting the\nCatholicos and ended by disclosing his identity, proclaiming himself\nMoses of Khorene. At first the Catholicos was incredulous, but, on a\ncareful examination of the old man\u2019s features, he recognised him as\none of his former fellow-students, whereupon he burst into tears and\nheld him in a long embrace.\n\nThat day was one of great rejoicing in Armenia, and, soon after, Moses\nbecame Bishop of Bagravand.\n\nThese Armenian students educated abroad were looked on askance by some\nof the ignorant clergy, and, for this reason, some of the former used\nto retire and study in seclusion. In his History, Moses of Khorene\ninveighs bitterly against these illiterate priests.\n\nGhazar Pharpe says:\u2014\n\n\u201cMoses, the philosopher of blessed memory, met with much opposition\nand annoyance from the unlearned clergy, who called this enlightened\nman a heretic, and in their ignorance found fault with his books,\nbesides performing many unfriendly acts towards him.\u201d\n\nAfter this passage, several pages of the manuscript are missing. The\nnext page we have begins:\u2014\n\n\u201cThey exhumed his bones from the grave and threw them into the\nriver.\u201d\n\nIt is doubtful whether these words refer to Moses or to some one else.\n\nMoses of Khorene attempted to write the history of two or three\nthousand years, beginning with dark and unknown ages, weaving his\nmaterials in such a way as to produce a vivid and life-like picture,\ntinged with the colours of all the centuries which he depicts. He\nwrites in poetic language and his style is simple and picturesque.\nEvery event recorded by him becomes beautiful, noble, and great. There\nis not a paragraph, not a sentence, which falls below the general level\nof the work. The History is a marvellous panorama, which, as it\nunfolds, fills us with ever fresh wonder and admiration. The story of\nTiridates is narrated in such a way as to draw tears from every reader\nand\u2014to use an Armenian expression\u2014to make him feel as if the hairs\nof his head had turned into thorns. He speaks with such warm admiration\nof Tigranes that it might be thought he was speaking of a contemporary.\n\nIn the following passage he displays strong feeling, in reference to\none of his teachers whom he found dead on his return from abroad.\n\n\u201cWhere is the calm of those gentle eyes, which to the just gave rest,\nand inspired the guilty with awe?\n\n\u201cWhere is the smile of his cheerful lips, as he met his pupils?\n\n\u201cWhere is the hope that enlivened the tedium of weary journeys? that\ngave repose in the midst of labour?\n\n\u201cHow shall I write my tragedy? and who is there to weep at it?\u201d\n\nOne sees by his writing that Moses was a man of strong character, with\nfirm principles, neither vacillating nor superficial. The reader is\nprofoundly impressed by his words; they sink deeply into him, pressing\nlike lead on a tablet, and casting him under the spell of the author.\nThis effect is due, in part, to his convincing power; it is impossible\nnot to realise what he records. His statements are concise; what others\nwould take pages to express, he conveys in a few words. In descriptive\npowers he is unrivalled, not only among Armenians, but even as compared\nwith Greek and Roman historians. His graphic pictures of people and\nplaces, together with his remarks and reflections and his frequent\nquotations from the national epics, prove his historical skill and\nliterary taste.\n\nIn a word, as one reads him, one feels him to be a genius of the first\nmagnitude.\n\nMoses of Khorene wrote his History at the request of Sahak Bagratuni, a\nman of noble or princely birth. The History consists of three books.\nBook I., as we have already said, is mainly based on national epics and\nlegends. Although these relate only to a few heroes, the treatment is\nvery elaborate.\n\nThen comes the history of 180 years, over which he passes very lightly,\nmerely giving a list of names, with a few words added to each. This\nshows that, for this period, he has not been able to find any material\nin the native epics and songs.\n\nBook II. relates to the Arsacid dynasty, speaking also of the\nintroduction of Christianity, and going on to the death of Tiridates\nand of Gregory the Illuminator.\n\nBook III. contains the history of the successors of Tiridates up to the\nsad end of the Arsacid dynasty. This book ends with a long lament over\nthe pitiful plight of Armenia. It contains also a bitter invective\nagainst the author\u2019s contemporaries\u2014princes, judges, clergy,\nsoldiery\u2014in short against all who, being careless of duty and\nregardless of the ideal, lead the people astray.\n\nMoses of Khorene has left other works besides his History, one of which\nis a Geography, containing, among other things, an account of the\nBritish Isles.\n\nFor 1400 years, the History of Moses of Khorene was revered and\naccepted as the only authentic History of Armenia; and it was not till\nthe nineteenth century that criticism was directed against it, not only\nby Armenian scholars, but also by French, German, Italian, English, and\nRussian scholars. This criticism was chiefly levelled at the principal\nsource from which the Armenian historian professed to draw his\ninformation.\n\nArshak the Great, according to Moses, after casting off the Macedonian\nyoke and conquering Assyria, set his brother, Wargharshak, on the\nthrone of Armenia. So commences the Arsacid dynasty. The new king\nwished to know what kind of men had been ruling the country before him.\nWas he (he asked) the successor of brave men or of bad men? He found an\nintelligent man, a Syrian, named Mar-Abas-Katina, and sent him to his\nbrother, Arshak the Great, with this letter:\u2014\n\n\u201cTo Arshak, the king of the earth and the sea, whose form and person\nare like unto the gods and whose triumphs are above those of all kings;\nthe greatness of whose mind can fathom all things of earth,\nWargharshak, thy youngest brother and comrade in arms, appointed by\nthee King of Armenia, greeting. Victory ever attend thee.\n\n\u201cI have received from thee the behest to encourage bravery and\nwisdom. I have not forgotten thy counsel. On the contrary, I have done\nall that my mind could devise or my skill carry into effect, and now,\nthanks to thy guardianship, I have put this country in order. And next\nI want to know who, before myself, has subdued the land of Armenia, and\nfrom whom are descended the noble families who are established here.\nThere does not seem to be any fixed grade of classes; among the chief\nmen, it is impossible to ascertain which is highest and which lowest;\nso that some confusion ensues. I therefore beg that the archives may be\nopened in the presence of this man whom I have sent to present himself\nin thy great country, in order that he may bring back the information\nthat is desired by thy son and brother.\u201d\n\nThis Syrian (says the historian) found in the library at Nineveh a book\ntranslated from the Chaldean into Greek, by order of Alexander the\nGreat, which contained various ancient histories. From this book\nMar-Abas copied only the authentic history of Armenia, which he took\nback to Wargharshak, who, esteeming this document his most precious\ntreasure, preserved it with great care in his palace and engraved part\nof it on a stone monument.\n\nIt is this document of Mar-Abas-Katina that Moses of Khorene cites as\nhis chief authority for the early authentic history of Armenia, though\nhe also mentions several other native and foreign writers as sources of\nhis work.\n\nWith regard to these statements, critics point out that the library of\nNineveh was not in existence in the second century B.C., as it was\ndestroyed in 625 B.C.; some even maintain that Mar-Abas-Katina was a\nfictitious personage, invented by Moses of Khorene to give more weight\nto his own statements, in accordance with the universal custom of his\ntime, when contemporary writings were continually ascribed to the great\nmen of old or even to imaginary characters. Moses of Khorene, say these\ncritics, was himself a great lover of the folklore, legends, and epics\nof his country, but he knew that, if he gave these as his only source\nof information, his History would gain no credence, especially as, at\nthe period when he wrote, just after the establishment of Christianity,\neverything pagan was regarded with suspicion. Moreover, Moses, being\nhimself a bishop, could not have avowed such a source for all his\nstatements, though, as we have said, he quotes from the epics and says\nthat some of the contents of his work are derived from them. It is,\nhowever, generally admitted that Moses of Khorene had in his hands such\na book as he describes and that this book was one of his sources. The\nbook has even been traced.\n\nAs to Mar-Abas-Katina, although his book may not have been compiled\nunder the circumstances described in the History, Moses may have\nbelieved that he was the author of the book in his possession.\nProfessor Mar has even found, in Arabic literature, some independent\ntraces of Mar-Abas-Katina.\n\nThere is also some controversy about the date of Moses of Khorene\nhimself. By some he is placed even as late as the seventh century,\nbecause his writings contain references to events as late as that\nperiod.\n\nBut it is not difficult to account for this without disputing the\ngenerally received date of the historian, for, when we consider how\nmany ancient books have been re-edited, we see how easily the work\nbefore us may have been touched up by a later hand in the seventh\ncentury. [38]\n\nIn concluding this account of Moses of Khorene, we must acknowledge\nthat he has not only rendered much service to Armenian history, but\nthat his book is one of the great works of all literature, and, if it\nwere better known, would take a high place among the masterpieces of\nthe world.\n\nThe most momentous event in the national life of Armenia\u2014an event\nwhich was the chief determining factor in the early history of the\ncountry\u2014was the change of religion made by the adoption of\nChristianity, the foundation of which had been already laid by King\nAbgarus (A.D. 3\u201334) and the preaching of the Apostles St. Thaddeus\n(A.D. 33\u201348) and St. Bartholomew (A.D. 49), and finally established\nby Tiridates (A.D. 286\u2013342). By this the Armenians were entirely\nsevered from the pagan Persians and brought into close contact with the\nGreeks, whose representative was then the Emperor of Byzantium. As a\nresult of this religious agreement, a treaty was concluded in 319\nbetween Tiridates and Constantine, the first Christian Emperor of Rome,\nby which the two Christian monarchs bound themselves to defend each\nother against all pagans.\n\nThe adoption of Christianity meant, to the Armenians, a revolution in\ntheir whole view of life, a severance from their ancestral beliefs,\nthough these beliefs have left traces in Armenian folklore which are\nvisible even to this day. These beliefs and the folklore arising out of\nthem were regarded by the Christian clergy as a poisonous flower grown\nup in the fields of paganism. The historians of the period have\nchronicled the efforts of the clergy to exterminate every relic of the\nold faith. Temples were pulled down and churches built in their stead;\nimages and other monuments were broken in pieces; heathen books and\nrecords were destroyed; pagan festivals were turned into Christian\nones. We learn from Faustus of Byzantium that laws were even made\nagainst the use and the singing of pagan songs, but, notwithstanding\nthis persecution, according to Faustus and other historians, the\nArmenians \u201clanguished for these songs.\u201d Even as late as the fifth\ncentury, when there was an attempt to restore paganism in Armenia,\nVasak Suni had books of these songs copied and distributed among the\npeople in order to win them back to heathenism. This had the effect of\nrekindling hostility against the songs, and the books were destroyed\nwhen Christianity finally triumphed, although, as we have shown above,\nechoes of the songs are to be heard as late as the eleventh century.\n\nGregory the Illuminator (A.D. 239\u2013325), who converted Armenia to\nChristianity, belonged to the royal race of the Arsacidae. He had\nstudied at Caesarea. He and his family had hellenising tendencies in\nreligion, education, and politics. There was a section opposed to\nHellenism which favoured Syrian ideas and, in politics, inclined to\nPersia. At this early period of Christianity, the Bible was read in\nGreek in the north-west provinces of Armenia, while in the south-east\nprovinces it was read in Syriac. During this period, schools were\nestablished for the education of the young on Christian principles. Out\nof the pupils in these schools about 100 were chosen to be sent to\neducational centres abroad, where Greek learning was taught. At the\ntime when this contact of Armenians with Greek culture took place, the\nancient glories of Hellas were past, and Greek scholars busied\nthemselves chiefly with theological subtilties. Of course the main\nobject of educating the students from the Christian schools was to\nindoctrinate them in religious lore and fit them for the priesthood,\nbut, nevertheless, the youths also brought away with them a tincture of\nGreek culture, and this led to the rise of the Golden Age of Armenian\nliterature.\n\nIt was the aim of the Greek Empire at this time to make the Armenian\nChurch a branch of the Greek Church and to gain a political ascendency\nover the Armenians, but the head of the Armenian Church and the leaders\nof the intellectual movement were resolved on religious and national\nindependence. Towards that end two important steps were taken. In 404,\nthe Armenian alphabet was invented, and, in 491, the Armenian Church\nwas separated from the Greek Church.\n\nThe Armenian language belongs to the Indo-European group. Though it has\nbeen regarded by some as an offshoot of the Iranic branch, recent\nscholars of eminence have maintained its right to rank as a distinct\nbranch, intermediate between the Iranic and the European. It has a very\nindependent character and many peculiarities of its own; it has also\ngreat strength and flexibility. It has a great number of roots, and is\ncapable of expressing ideas of all kinds and denoting fine shades of\nmeaning. It is read from left to right like European languages. It is\nrich in particles, to which circumstance its expressiveness is partly\ndue. It has also a treasure of dialectic words, which have the effect\nof importing vigour to Armenian speech. It is not harsh in sound, as\nhas been alleged by some who are imperfectly acquainted with it. Its\nalphabet consists of thirty-six characters, with which it is possible\nto represent every variety of sound, consisting of vowels as well as\nconsonants; it has no vowel points, in this respect resembling the\nEuropean, and differing from most oriental, alphabets. The spelling is\nalmost perfectly phonetic.\n\nThe language of the period with which we are dealing was Grabar or\nAncient Armenian, which remained the literary language till the\nbeginning of the nineteenth century and is still the Church language,\nbeing used in all religious services. Modern Armenian has not departed\nvery widely from Grabar. During pagan times, the Armenians had an\nalphabet of their own, but, on the introduction of Christianity, it was\ndiscarded on account of its pagan origin.\n\nThe honour of being the inventor of the new Armenian alphabet belongs\nto St. Mesrop (361\u2013440), a former secretary of King Tiridates. He\nfound some of the ancient letters and invented others to complete the\nalphabet in 404. St. Mesrop and St. Sahak (353\u2013439) were the\nforerunners of the Armenian intellectual movement, the former as the\ninventor of the alphabet, the latter, together with his pupils, as the\ntranslator of the Bible into Armenian. This translation is called\n\u201cthe Queen of Translations.\u201d The language is so simple and direct,\nand, at the same time, so beautiful, that there is nothing to be\ncompared with it.\n\nThe Armenian translation of the Bible is the foundation-stone of\nArmenian Christianity. Perhaps no translation of the Scriptures has\never made so deep an impression on a people as this one has made on the\nArmenians. By them it was taken as a symbolical history of their own\ncountry. Did not the events recorded in the very first chapters happen\nin Armenia? and also the second Creation after the Flood? Did not their\nbeloved mountain, Ararat, figure in the latter story? In the Bible they\nfound even the names of their national heroes, Haik and Vahagn, though,\nas we have seen, for the latter names only the translators are\nresponsible. Other Bible stories resemble the records of Armenian\nhistory. Moses led his tribe from the land of bondage into a land of\nfreedom, just as Haik did. All the stories of suffering under a foreign\nyoke and of revolt against oppression have their parallels in the\nannals of Armenia.\n\nAt the end of the fourth century (374\u2013383), Nerses the Great was\nCatholicos. During these ten years he displayed great energy. Under his\nrule, many councils were held and many regulations drawn up to\nsafeguard the morals of the people. In addition to this, a number of\nschools, hospitals, orphanages, almshouses, and other charitable\ninstitutions arose under his supervision. A contemporary historian says\nthat during Nerses\u2019 term of office, upwards of 2000 abbeys and\nmonasteries were built. These religious houses served as centres, not\nonly of religious life, but also of learning, where numerous\necclesiastics and teachers were trained. This intellectual movement,\nwhich was of a purely religious and educational character, not merely\nlived through the political tempest of those times, but gradually grew\nand progressed. In the year 400, the representative of the Arsacid\ndynasty on the throne was Vramshapuh, an able monarch, who, being\nhimself a lover of peace, did much to encourage and foster the\nintellectual movement and to keep the country free from foreign foes\nand internal dissensions. King Vramshapuh reigned twenty-one years and\nit was, approximately, these years that constituted what is called\n\u201cthe Golden Age of Armenian literature.\u201d\n\nSt. Sahak (353\u2013439), who, with St. Mesrop, was the moving spirit of\nthe intellectual movement, was Catholicos during part of this period.\n\nThe Golden Period was of short duration, only lasting twenty-five\nyears, but it was rich in achievements. The students educated abroad on\ntheir return originated a new literature, pervaded by Christian ideas.\nThey considered themselves as torch-bearers in the new movement, and\nall their work is animated by inspiration.\n\nThis period is one of marvellous activity. The new national alphabet\nhad charms that wrought like magic and, coupled with the new religion\nof hope, captivated all Armenian hearts. Armenians realised that it was\na religion for the people, not merely for the great and powerful. All\nover Armenia national schools were opened. Nearly every book of\nimportance written in Greek and Syriac was translated into Armenian, as\nwell as some of the Latin authors. Translation was a recognised\nprofession, and \u201ctranslator\u201d was a title of honour, like the\nEuropean \u201cdoctor.\u201d There are upwards of fifty chronicles and\nhistories written in ancient Armenian, which is richer in literature\nthan the Greek of the same period, and the Armenian language is so\nflexible and so well adapted to the exact rendering of every kind of\nliterature that if, for instance, the Anabasis of Xenophon were lost,\nit might be reproduced in Greek, almost word for word, from the\nArmenian version. Among the writings which now survive only in\nArmenian, the originals having been lost, are the Homilies of St. John\nChrysostom, two works of Philo on Providence, together with some of his\nBiblical commentaries, the Chronicle of Eusebius, the works of St.\nEphrem and others.\n\nBesides translations, Armenia produced, during the period with which we\nare concerned, original works, chiefly of an historical character.\nThese give very succinct accounts of the Persian and Mongol invasions,\nand throw fresh light on the state of the East during the Middle Ages.\nAs these works lie outside our present subject, we cannot here even\nname their authors. Those who wish to investigate them are referred to\nwhat we have written elsewhere. [39]\n\nWhat is most remarkable is that, at the very beginning of the\nintellectual movement, when the alphabet had just been formed, the\nliterary language is so highly developed, so rich and subtle, that it\nis more like a language which is the product of centuries of culture.\nThis very fact shows that culture was no novelty in Armenia. The new\nmovement only introduced a fresh era in Armenian civilisation.\n\nTwenty-five years after the introduction of the Armenian alphabet, the\nArsacid dynasty fell (428), the last king being Artashir III. From this\ntime the Armenians have ceased to be politically independent.\n\nFrom 432 onwards, the greater part of Armenia was governed by Persian\nsatraps. The Persians regarded with great apprehension the adoption of\nChristianity in Armenia, as this caused the Armenians to enter into\ncloser relations with the Greeks. As a matter of fact, at the end of\nthe fourth century, the Greeks came to aid the Armenians in driving\naway the Persians. It was the aim of the Persians to eradicate\nChristianity from Armenia. In order to further this object, they\ndeclared war on the Greek Empire. The latter, instead of fighting, made\npeace with the Persians, accepting very humiliating terms. The\nArmenians were left to their fate, but, nevertheless, they resolved to\nstand up for their religion against the Persian monarch, who led a\ngreat army against them with the intention of enforcing Zoroastrianism.\nAt this time there was no Armenian king. The majority of the remaining\nprinces and nobles, however, formed a regular army, the people gladly\nserving as volunteers, though there was a very small party, led by\nPrince Vasak Suni, that were inclined, for political reasons, to\nentertain the Persian proposals.\n\nAll this took place between 449 and 454. The first religious war (451)\nis known as Vardanantz, because Vardan Manikomian, who was the\ncommander-in-chief of the Armenian army of defence, was the moving\nspirit in the struggle of Armenian Christianity against the religion of\nPersia. He fell in the battle of Avarair, but his fame survived him and\nhe is the most beloved of Armenian heroes.\n\nThis war, though it crushed the hopes in which the Armenians had\nindulged themselves of regaining their political independence,\nnevertheless convinced the Persians of the impossibility of uprooting a\nreligion which was so firmly implanted in the hearts of the people.\n\nThe first religious war was followed by a second, in which the Armenian\nprinces offered a valiant resistance and the Persians were obliged to\ngive way. The leader of the resisting princes was appointed satrap by\nthe Persians. Thus Armenia won back partial independence, the Persians\nthemselves appointing an Armenian satrap and proclaiming religious\nliberty. The Chief of the Magi, who was sent to convert the Armenians\nto Mazdiism, returned unsuccessful and reported to the Persian king:\n\u201cEven if the immortals themselves came to our aid, it would be\nimpossible to establish Mazdiism in Armenia.\u201d Although Vardan and his\nfollowers perished in this war, and although the Armenians, apparently,\nlost the battle, the struggle resulted in the triumph of the ideal for\nwhich Armenia was struggling\u2014that of religious freedom. This the\nPersians realised and never, after this time, did they make any attempt\nto force the Armenians to change their faith. Neither did any of the\nvarious Mohammedan conquerors venture on any steps towards bringing\nabout the conversion of the whole Armenian nation, though they have\nenforced conformity on a small scale; they have had to content\nthemselves with political supremacy. The Mohammedan world has realised\nthat Christianity is a great power in Armenia, and this is the reason\nwhy the religious heads of the nation\u2014the Catholicos and the\npatriarchs\u2014meet with great consideration, not only from the\ngovernments of Christian states, but also from Mohammedan powers; both\nby Christian and by Mohammedan countries which have rule over Armenia\nthese dignitaries are recognised as representatives of their country,\nnot only in religious, but also in secular affairs. Thus the Christian\nNational Church has been one of the chief factors of the unity and the\nnational consciousness which exists among Armenians even up to the\npresent day, and this is the reason why the battle of Vardan is\nregarded as a national triumph and is still annually commemorated. [40]\n\nWhen Armenia had ceased to be an independent state, its literature\nbecame more religious, as the clergy were anxious to foster devotion.\nChristianity introduced a new kind of poetry, namely, Church hymns and\nchants. These were called, in Armenian, sharakans. They were not only\nwritten in metre, but they were composed with a view to being sung. The\nword sharakan means a \u201crow of gems.\u201d Historians of the Middle Ages\nsay that the sharakans were mainly written by the \u201ctranslators,\u201d\ni.e., by writers of the fourth and fifth centuries. As a matter of\nfact, very few sharakans were written after the thirteenth century.\nSince then, no prayers or hymns have been introduced into the Armenian\nChurch.\n\nIt is said by writers of the Middle Ages that St. Sahak arranged the\nsharakans for ten voices and St. Stephanos for twenty-six voices,\ncorresponding to created things\u2014elements, plants, birds, and animals.\nThere were also women sharakan writers. One of these was Sahakadukht,\nwho lived in the eighth century. She not only wrote, but also composed\nmusic, and taught singing. Out of modesty, she used to hide behind a\ncurtain, whence she gave instruction to both sexes. An historian of the\ntime, Ghevond Eretz, says of her sharakans: \u201cThey were angelic songs\non earth.\u201d Singing was considered a great art in Armenia, and\nmusicians were called \u201cphilosophers.\u201d Several of such\n\u201cphilosophers\u201d were canonised and had the word \u201cphilosopher\u201d\nprefixed to their names. The fame of some of these musicians spread to\nforeign lands. This explains the fact that, when Catholicos Petros\nGetadardz went to Constantinople, he took with him a company of\nmusicians, whom he presented, as a gift, for the service of the\nByzantine court.\n\nThere was a revival of sharakan-writing in the thirteenth century,\nwhich was a flourishing literary period. It was during this time that\nBishop Khachatour Tarinetzi invented distinctively Armenian musical\nnotes, which are quite unrelated to European ones, so that the\nArmenians had now, not only an alphabet of their own, but also their\nown musical notation, and their hymns could be set to music. This\nnotation was improved in the eighteenth century.\n\nArmenian hymns are written in a style which is not only picturesque,\nbut which also has a charm of its own; its colours are very rich; the\npictures it conjures up are vivid. When one remembers that many of them\nwere written when national life and death were hanging in the balance,\nbecause of foreign oppression, at a time when they had no one to turn\nto but the Creator, we understand how it is that so much tenderness,\nhope, and devotion are embodied in these \u201crows of gems,\u201d nor can\none help thinking that Armenian is the natural language for religious\npoems. A vein of mysticism runs through many of these hymns, especially\nthrough those written by Gregory of Narek (951\u20131009), one example of\nwhich\u2014\u201cThe Christ-Child\u201d\u2014appears on page 113 of this volume.\nBut this mysticism is not obscure; on the contrary, it is to the hymn\nwhat light and shade are to a picture serving to bring it into touch\nwith nature.\n\nHymns have always been popular among the Armenians. Even peasants know\nthem by heart and sing them. The hymn tunes are unique, being entirely\nindependent of those of other Christian nations. Their somewhat strange\nrhythm recalls the chorus of singers round the altars of the pagan\ngods. No doubt some pagan melodies have found their way into the\nChristian hymn tunes of Armenia.\n\nThe Armenians are rich in folksongs. The music to which these songs are\nset possesses great charm. In it, also, the rhythm is most important.\nAn Armenian composer, speaking of these folksongs, says:\u2014\n\n\u201cBy means of those ethereal and heavenly waves of melody one sees\nenchanting mermaids who, after dancing on the banks of large and small\nlakes and poising themselves on the waters, allure towards themselves\nthe pagan Armenians, offering love kisses to all minstrels.\u201d\n\nIn later years Armenian music and poetry were affected by European\ninfluence, but in her hymns and folksongs she has musical treasures\nthat are all her own.\n\nSide by side with the written literature of this period, the unwritten\nliterature continued to grow. The latter consists mainly of folktales,\nfables, and proverbs.\n\nIt is easy to distinguish a Christian folktale from a pagan one by the\ndifferent ideals embodied in it. Some of the folktales of this period\nhave arisen out of historical events.\n\nIn the folktales, it is the youngest child that is the hero or heroine.\nThese stories express the people\u2019s outlook on life and are the\nproduct of their experiences, which have been handed down from\ngeneration to generation.\n\nThere is a great deal of folklore current in Armenia, some of which has\nbeen collected and published.\n\nGrigor Magistros says that, in his time, unwritten fables in rhyme were\nvery popular.\n\nThere are also many Armenian proverbs. It seems to have been a custom\nin ancient times\u2014and the usage is still retained in some places\u2014for\na man to go and meet the girl he wishes to marry on the banks of a\nstream or in a forest and to ask her a riddle. If she gives the correct\nanswer to the riddle, he marries her.\n\nHere are a few of the riddles used on these occasions:\u2014\n\n\u201cWhat paper is it that you cannot write on? and what sort of pen can\nwrite on this paper?\u201d\n\nA maiden who desires to marry the man should answer:\u2014\n\n\u201cThe heart is the paper on which no pen can write; language is the\npen that writes on the heart.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat rose is it that opens in the winter and in due time fades and\nis gone?\u201d\n\nAnswer: \u201cSnow is the rose that opens in the winter; when summer\ncomes, it fades and is gone.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe brother chases the sister, the sister the brother, but neither\ncan catch the other.\u201d\n\nAnswer: \u201cThe sun and the moon.\u201d\n\nThere is another usage, belonging especially to young girls, which has\ngiven rise to an extensive literature. This literature consists of\ncharm-verses, which are used for fortune-telling. A selection of these\nis given on pages 67\u201368.\n\nOnce a year, on the Eve of Ascension Day, young maidens who want their\nfortunes told decorate a bowl with certain specially selected flowers.\nInto this bowl each girl casts a token\u2014a ring, a brooch, a thimble.\nAfter filling the bowl with flowers of seven different kinds, and water\ndrawn from seven springs, they cover it with an embroidered cloth and\ntake it by night to the priest, who says a prayer over it. They then\nput it out in the moonlight, open to the stars, leaving it till dawn.\nNext morning, at daybreak, furnished with provisions for the whole day,\nthey go out of the village carrying the bowl, to the side of a spring,\nto the foot of a mountain, or into an open field, gathering, on the\nway, various kinds of flowers, with which they deck themselves. Arrived\nat their destination, they first play games, dance, and sing, then they\ntake a beautiful little girl, too young to tell where the sun rises,\nwho has been previously chosen for their purpose and gaily dressed for\nthe occasion, and who does not know to whom each token belongs, and\ncover her face with a richly wrought veil, so that she may not see what\nis in the bowl. The child draws the articles out of the bowl, one by\none, and holds each in her hand. While she does this, one of the party\nrecites a charm-song, and the owner of each token takes the song which\naccompanies it as her fortune.\n\nThere are thousands of these charm-songs. In form they are very simple.\nSometimes two consecutive lines deal with quite distinct subjects,\nthough they rhyme together and their construction is the same. Each is\na perfect poem.\n\nAfter the end of the Arsacid dynasty, Armenia remained under the rule\nof Persia for two hundred years. During this period, sometimes the\nwhole country fell temporarily into the hands of the Greeks; on other\noccasions the same fate befell a few provinces. Speaking generally,\nafter the fall of the Arsacidae, the eastern\u2014and more\nextensive\u2014part of Armenia remained under Persian rule, and the\nwestern\u2014and smaller\u2014part came under Greek dominion. The Greeks and\nthe Persians were continually fighting with one another for the\npossession of the whole country. Armenia was the battlefield, and the\nsufferer was always the Armenian people. After the Arabs had embraced\nMohammedanism, they formed a powerful empire, conquering Mesopotamia\nand then passing on to Persia. They forced the Persians to become\nMohammedans, and in 640 entered Armenia. Eastern Armenia, which was\nthen in the hands of the Persians, fell into their possession.\n\nThe Greeks greatly dreaded the taking of Armenia by the Arabs, as it\nformed a strong barrier against the assault of the Greek colonies in\nAsia Minor. Therefore, as they had before fought in Armenia against the\nPersians, so they now proceeded to fight against the Arabs; and again\nArmenia was the battlefield and the sufferers were the Armenians. The\nGreeks came from time to time demanding tribute of them, and if their\ndemand were resisted, the people were plundered and slaughtered. On the\ndeparture of the Greek army, the Arabs came, making the same demand.\nThus, during the first two hundred years following the fall of the\nArsacidae, the Armenians were between the two fires of the Persians and\nthe Greeks, and then for another two hundred years between the two\nfires of the Greeks and the Arabs. During this period, the Armenian\nprinces offered resistance from time to time and succeeded in regaining\nindependence for short intervals. The governors set by the Arabs over\nArmenia were in the habit of persecuting the native princes, to prevent\nthem from organising revolts. Of these governors, the most bloodthirsty\nwere Kashm and Bugha. The former cunningly invited all the Armenian\nprinces to the town of Nakhejevan, where they assembled in the church;\nwhereupon, by order of the government, the church was surrounded by\npiles of wood and set on fire, and the princes burnt alive (704). The\narmy was then set to plunder and slaughter the Armenians and burn the\ntowns and villages, as the people, deprived of their princes, could\noffer no resistance. Many were exiled to the Arab capital, Damascus.\nBugha (850) surpassed even Kashm in his cruelty, but we need not\nchronicle his atrocities here. Under such governors as these, the\ntribute and the taxes were enormous, and the people became very poor.\nThere were, however, also good governors, during whose rule the people\nwere free from oppression and were allowed to pursue their peaceful\noccupations.\n\nBut gradually the power of the Arabs declined.\n\nThe Armenians took advantage of the weakening of the Arab power to form\nindependent kingdoms. One of the principal noble families during the\nperiod of Arab dominion was that of the Bagratuni. This family was rich\nand powerful and had much land in its possession. Under the Arsacidae,\nthe head of this family was hereditary \u201ccoronator\u201d (i.e., he had\nthe privilege of putting the crown on the king\u2019s head, on the\noccasion of a new sovereign). During the rule of the Arabs, the command\nof the Armenian army was given to this family. The Bagratuni, though\nextremely courageous and patriotic, were also cautious and tactful in\ntheir relations with the Arabs, whom they served faithfully, thus\ngaining the respect of the Khalifs. As they also won the love and\nesteem of their own countrymen by rebuilding and restoring what the\nArabs had destroyed, they were able to act as mediators between the\nKhalifs and the Armenian people. In wars against the enemies of the\nArabs, members of this family had many successes. Once a Persian prince\nrevolted against the Khalif and a Persian army of 80,000 marched into\nArmenia. The Arabs were too weak to make any resistance, but Ashot\nBagratuni with his troops defeated the invaders. After the victory, the\nKhalif of Bagdad sent a crown to Ashot, thus making him a king,\nthinking, \u201cHe is so powerful that, if I do not give him a crown, he\nwill seize one for himself.\u201d\n\nThus in 885 Ashot became the first king of the Bagratuni dynasty. The\nGreek emperor, Basil I., also sent a crown to Ashot, with a view to\ngaining the friendship and influence of Armenia. During the dominion of\nthe Bagratuni, the r\u00e9gime of the Arsacidae was restored and the\ncountry prospered. Ani, which was the seat of government during the\ngreater part of this period, though formerly it was little more than a\nfortress, became one of the most flourishing cities of the time. It was\nfull of fine edifices\u2014churches, palaces, museums, etc.\u2014and was\ncalled \u201cthe city of a thousand and one churches.\u201d Its fame even\nspread to foreign lands.\n\nThere were several other noble Armenian families with ambitions. In 908\none of these\u2014the Ardzruni family\u2014made the lands they held into a\nkingdom, called Vaspurakan, with Van as a capital city. In taking this\nstep they were encouraged by the Arabs, who were watching with alarm\nthe growing power of the Bagratuni.\n\nIn 908 another Armenian kingdom was set up with Kars as its capital.\n\nAshot III., who was then the king of the Bagratuni dynasty, was quite\naware that the Arabs were encouraging the formation of small Armenian\nkingdoms, but he offered no opposition, leaving his rivals alone to\nserve the people each in his own way.\n\nThis Ashot was one of the greatest sovereigns of this dynasty. He was\ncalled \u201cAshot the Compassionate\u201d because of his love of the people\nand his numerous charitable provisions for their benefit. It was said\nthat he would never dine without sending for some beggars out of the\nstreet to share the meal with him.\n\nThe most renowned as well as the wisest and most powerful king of this\ndynasty was Gagik I. (990\u20131020), under whom the country enjoyed its\nperiod of greatest prosperity.\n\nThe danger of the Arabs was past, but now a new peril threatened the\nEast, that of the Seljukian Turks, who came from Central Asia in search\nof a new country. Persia and Mesopotamia fell before them and they\nentered Armenia. Several of the Armenian princes offered them stout\nresistance with some success, but, fearing that this success was only\ntemporary, others transferred themselves and their subjects to more\nsecure parts of the country.\n\nThe Seljuks conquered Persia and established a Persian kingdom of their\nown, but the new Persia was no longer Zoroastrian, but Mohammedan.\nArmenia again became a battlefield. The Greeks also claimed the city of\nAni, and this led to many conflicts in which the Armenians made a brave\ndefence. The town, however, fell through treachery and the Greeks\ndevastated some parts of the country, treating the inhabitants no\nbetter than the Arabs and the Seljuks had done. In order to weaken the\npower of Armenia, they also made attempts to exterminate the native\nprinces and nobles.\n\nAbout the same time, the Seljuks again invaded Armenia and completed\nthe desolation which the Greeks had begun. They wrought great\ndestruction in Ani.\n\nThe last king of the Bagratuni dynasty was unable to re-establish his\nkingdom and was killed by the Greeks. His two sons and his grandson\nwere poisoned. So ended the race of the Bagratuni whose dynasty had\nlasted 160 years.\n\nDuring the rule of this house, the country had a period of rest and the\nenergies of the people were directed to the restoration and development\nof the country. The ruined monasteries and churches were rebuilt,\nschools were again established; commerce, arts, and handicrafts throve.\nThis was a particularly flourishing time for the national architecture,\nwhich now assumed a new character. Most of the Armenian abbeys and\nchurches were built during this time, and as these places had always\nbeen seats of learning, alternative erudition revived, original writing\nand the transcription of manuscripts going on briskly within the\nconvent walls. The literature of this period is chiefly of a religious\ncharacter. In it we see traces of Arabic influence\u2014the influence of\nthe eighth century, when Arabic literature was at its zenith. The chief\ndebt of Armenian literature to the Arabs is the introduction of rhyme,\nwhich is first found in Armenian verse in the eleventh century.\n\nIn dealing with this period, as we are only concerned with Armenian\npoetry, we must leave unmentioned the historians and other famous prose\nwriters.\n\nThe most remarkable Armenian poet under the Bagratuni dynasty was\nGrigor Narekatzi (951\u20131009), who has been called the Pindar of\nArmenia and has also been canonised as a saint. From his pen came\nelegies, odes, panegyrics, and homilies. His sacred elegies\n(ninety-five in number) are elevated in style, showing Arabian\ninfluence, and very pure in sentiment. His canticles and melodies are\nstill chanted in the Armenian Church. Verbosity is a characteristic of\nhis work; in one passage the word \u201cGod\u201d is accompanied by ninety\nadjectives.\n\nHe was greatly loved and revered by the people, but he aroused jealousy\nin some of his ecclesiastical colleagues. On one occasion, they went to\nthe Catholicos with accusations against him. The Catholicos appointed\npriests to investigate the case. These priests repaired to the abbey\nwhere Grigor Narekatzi was, arriving about dinner time on a Friday. To\ntheir surprise they found roast pigeons on the table, and reminded\nGrigor that it was fast-day, whereupon the latter said, addressing\nhimself to the pigeons: \u201cIf that be so, off with you!\u201d and the\nroasted birds took to themselves wings and flew away. The astonished\ninvestigators, without going into the case, turned back and reported\nthe miracle to the Catholicos. Of course this is an extravagant legend,\nbut it shows the high estimation in which Grigor Narekatzi was held by\nhis contemporaries.\n\nThe greatest work of this writer and the one on which his fame rests is\nNarek. It is divided into ninety-five chapters, and is a tragic\ndevotional monologue composed of poetical prayers. Here the author\nreveals his heart and soul in converse with God. Hope, fear, love,\nfaith, repentance, entreaty, aspiration, breathe as if mingled with\ntears in fine and noble lines and periods. There is a copious stream of\nepithets, a flood of rhetoric, an unfailing flow of ideas. With all\nthis wealth of diction, this work is sincere and strikingly original,\nand gives evidence of the author\u2019s high-soaring imagination. He\nbegins with an address to God, in which he represents himself as one of\nthe vilest of creatures, saying that, if all the trees in all the\nforests of the world were pens and all the seas ink, they would not\nsuffice to write down his sins, but towards even such sinfulness as\nthis the mercy of God is great, and the Creator is so powerful that it\nwill be possible for Him to bleach the sins as white as snow.\n\nThis work gives evidence that its author had, on the one hand, great\nlove of God and a firm faith, and on the other hand a vivid imagination\nand poetic fire. All this he has worded together with great skill.\n\nNarek is a mingling of prose and verse. It begins in prose and then\nbreaks into verse, then again, after continuing to some length, returns\nto prose, and so on. It was printed for the first time in 1673 at\nConstantinople; in all thirty editions have been published in different\nplaces. It stands by itself, being the only long mystic work in\nArmenian literature, mysticism being quite alien to the typical\nArmenian mind. Even the mysticism of Narek and a few other works of the\nsame period has its own peculiarities. It is not so obscure as ordinary\nmysticism, partaking, rather, of the nature of allegory.\nNotwithstanding its unusual character, Narek was formerly regarded with\nveneration little short of that accorded to the Bible itself. Within\nrecent times superstitious people ascribed to it miraculous medical\nqualities, believing that if certain chapters were read over a patient\nhe would be cured. It was also believed that if any one read certain\nchapters\u2014forty in number\u2014with concentrated attention, banishing\nthought of everything else, he would have the power of controlling\ndevils, but this it is said is very difficult and even dangerous,\nbecause while the reading is going on, evil spirits come and try to\ndistract the mind of the reader, annoying, terrifying, and even\ntorturing him; if his attention wanders, he may become possessed. All\nthis shows the value and importance that were attached to Narek. At the\nend of this work, the author states that he finished writing it in the\nyear 1001\u20132. Gregory of Narek also wrote several songs. Some of his\nprayers and sharakans are used in the church services. Another great\nwriter of this period was Grigor Magistros (\u2014\u2014 -1058) who produced\npoetry of some value. He was of princely lineage and, unlike the\nArmenian authors who were his predecessors or contemporaries, he was a\nlayman. He gained reputation as a linguist, a scholar, and a writer,\nand was one of the greatest politicians of his time. He received the\ntitle of \u201cduke\u201d from the Greek emperors Constantine and Monomachus.\nEarly in life he gave up politics and retired to his estate, where he\ndevoted himself to literary pursuits. He wrote both poetry and prose.\nHis chief poetical work is a long metrical narration (a thousand lines\nin extent) of the principal events recorded in the Bible, from the\nCreation to the Resurrection of Christ. The author states that this\nwork was written in three days at the request of a Mohammedan noble who\nwished to make acquaintance with the Christian Scriptures and who,\nafter reading the poem, became converted to Christianity. Grigor\nMagistros was almost the first poet to adopt the use of rhyme,\nintroduced into Armenia by the Arabs. In his work Grigor Magistros\ntells some interesting stories which he has learnt from the peasants.\nOne is the following. The lark, fearing that heaven would fall down,\nlay on her back, stretching up her feet towards the sky, thinking she\nwould thus prevent the catastrophe. Some laughed at her and said,\n\u201cWith your spindle legs, you want to become a tree, O bird, with a\nmind capacious as the sea.\u201d The lark replied, \u201cI am doing what I\ncan.\u201d\n\nAt the end of the eleventh century, chronicles and histories were\nwritten in ancient Armenian (Grabar), but there was also a language of\nthe people, in which books for popular use, such as collections of\nmedical recipes, began to be written at this period, as well as songs.\nWhen the country again lost its independence many migrations took\nplace. It was not only peasants and citizens who migrated; some of the\nnobles also sought more secure dwelling places in mountainous\ndistricts. The majority of these settled in the region of the Taurus\nMountains, and there the emigrants multiplied to such an extent that\nthey equalled the Greeks in number. In their new home they built many\nchurches and abbeys, where they educated the boys of the settlement.\nSoon they established a number of villages and small towns, and the\nprinces set up fortresses. The Byzantine emperors rather encouraged\nthis progress, as they thought that the existence of small\nbuffer-states on their frontier would serve as a barrier against the\nattacks of Mohammedan countries. One of these princes, Rubin by name,\nestablished himself there in 1080. He chose an impregnable stronghold,\nand the Armenians of the neighbourhood came and put themselves under\nhis protection. Other Armenian princes, settled in the surrounding\ndistricts, adopted him as their chief. Having concentrated and\nstrengthened his power, he ruled his little realm\u2014which was called,\nafter him, the Rubinian Principality\u2014with great wisdom for fifteen\nyears. He was succeeded by his son, Constantine, in 1095. Constantine\nextended his dominions by taking some almost impregnable fortresses\nfrom the Greeks. During his reign many Europeans began to come, with\ntheir armies, to the East. They wore the badge of the cross on their\narms, and were therefore called \u201cCrusaders.\u201d They cleared Palestine\nand Syria of Mohammedans and set up new Christian principalities in\nthose countries. The Armenians called these strangers \u201cLatins\u201d\nbecause they were all Catholics of the Roman Church. Constantine\nrendered great services to the Crusaders by furnishing them with\nguides, providing them with provisions, etc., and the European princes,\nas an acknowledgment, conferred on him the title of \u201cmarquis.\u201d\n\nThe successors of Constantine extended still further the boundaries of\nthe principality. After gaining possession of the mountains and\nstrongholds, they came to the plains of Cilicia and imposed their rule\nas far as the sea-coast. At this time the Byzantine Empire was very\nweak, and the Mohammedan Seljuks and Arabs were not very strong, as\nthey had become divided among themselves and were engaged in strife\nwith one another. The Crusaders had also formed new Christian\nprincipalities in those regions, so that the Rubinians had no fears\neither of Mohammedans or of any other foe. Precisely one hundred years\nafter the accession of Rubin I., the Armenians possessed the extensive\nreach of territory between the Taurus Range and the sea, where they had\nbuilt many fortresses, towns, and even ports.\n\nLeo II. (1185) succeeded in repelling the attacks of the Sultan of\nDamascus and other Mohammedan rulers, even taking some towns from them.\n\nDuring this period, Saladin, Sultan of Egypt, taking advantage of\ndissension among the crusading princes, attacked them, and took\nJerusalem and the rest of Palestine (1187).\n\nThen a new Crusade was started, led by the German Emperor Frederick\nBarbarossa. This monarch sent emissaries to Leo, asking his help\nagainst the Mohammedans, promising him a crown as a reward. Leo\nsupplied the Crusaders with provisions and rendered them other\nassistance. Barbarossa died without fulfilling his promise, but the\ncrown was sent by his successor, Henry VI., after consultation with the\nPope of Rome. Leo was crowned king in 1198. The following year, the new\nArmenian king also obtained recognition from the Byzantine Emperor, who\nsent him a crown. Leo still further extended his dominions and put the\nwhole kingdom into excellent condition. He did not, like the\nBagratunis, re-establish the r\u00e9gime of the Arsacidae, but tried to\nimitate European institutions, inviting many French, English, and\nGerman experts to his kingdom, giving them appointments in the court,\nthe army, and the council. Many new schools were opened in this reign\nin which the teaching was entrusted to learned Europeans as well as to\nArmenians.\n\nArts and handicrafts, commerce and agriculture also flourished under\nthis king. Leo died in 1219 after a reign of thirty-four years. For his\ngreat services to his people, he was called \u201cLeo the Benefactor.\u201d\n\nIt was under the rule of this king that Armenia entered into close\nrelations with Europe. Just as the Zoroastrian Persians and afterwards\nthe Greeks had inflicted all kinds of persecutions on the Armenians in\norder to convert them to their religions, so also in the reign of Leo\nII. and for many years afterwards the popes of Rome did everything\npossible to make the Armenians join their Church. The popes promised\nthe Armenians help against the Mohammedans, they even offered to\norganise a Crusade, but the first condition was that the Armenians\nshould become Catholics. When the Armenians did not accept these\nadvances, a number of Catholic priests came to Armenia and tried to\nconvert them. These priests were called \u201cUnitors.\u201d At this time the\nTartars (who were heathens) became very strong and conquered Persia.\nThe Armenian king when this conquest took place was Hetum. This king,\nthough he maintained friendly relations with the courts of Europe,\nattached little weight to promises emanating from these quarters; he\ntherefore formed an alliance with the Tartars against the Mohammedans.\nHe tried to indoctrinate his new allies in Christian ideas and almost\neffected their conversion to Christianity. That he did not quite gain\nhis object is due to external causes. Hetum, in conjunction with the\nTartars, fought successfully against many Mohammedan sultans, but the\nEgyptian mamelukes grew strong and the Tartars became Mohammedans\n(1302), whereupon enmity arose between them and the Armenians. Three\nMohammedan races\u2014Seljuks, Tartars, and mamelukes\u2014one after another\nattacked Cilicia, devastating the country and plundering many towns.\nThe Armenians asked assistance from the Pope and from European kings;\nhelp was promised from France, but it never came, so the Tartars\nconquered Cilicia and slew its king, who, however, was avenged by his\nyoungest brother, Ashin, who collected an army and drove the Tartars\nout of the country (1308).\n\nThe Mohammedan kingdoms became very powerful at this time. The\nmamelukes dominated, besides Egypt, Arabia, Palestine, and Syria as far\nas the Euphrates.\n\nThe common aim of all the Mohammedan governments was to destroy the\nindependent kingdom of Armenia, because it was the only Christian state\nin Asia that was capable of rendering assistance to European sovereigns\nshould any of them enter on a new Crusade in order to gain possession\nof the Holy Sepulchre. When the mamelukes heard that the European\nstates were planning a new Crusade, they formed an alliance with the\nTartars and the Sultan of Iconia and devastated Cilicia. But the\nArmenians made a brave defence and the mamelukes granted a peace for\nfifteen years. By this peace it was agreed that the King of Armenia\nshould pay a certain amount of tribute and the mamelukes should restore\nthe places they had taken. Again there was talk of a Crusade, and the\nSultan of Egypt again attacked Cilicia. Leo V. (King of Armenia) asked\nfor help from Europe, but the only assistance given was 10,000 florins\nsent by the King of France and a few sacks of corn from the Pope. This\nwas not what the Armenians wanted; in fact they were again left to\ntheir fate. The Mohammedan sultan offered to restore Leo\u2019s kingdom if\nhe would swear on the Cross and the Gospels that he would have no\ndealings with the Crusaders. Leo V. died in 1341, and as he had no\nchildren the throne passed to the Lusignan dynasty.\n\nThere were only four kings of this dynasty: the last king was Leo VI.\n(1365\u20131375). He was taken prisoner when the sultan invaded and\ndevastated Cilicia. Thus ended the kingdom of Armenia. After a few\nyears, through the mediation of John, King of Castille, Leo was set at\nliberty. He came to Europe to ask for help in regaining his kingdom.\nThere was a talk of a Crusade specially on behalf of the Armenians, but\nit never went beyond the stage of promises, and the last King of\nArmenia died in Paris in 1393 and is buried there in the Abbey of St.\nCelestin.\n\nWe have spoken mostly of Cilicia during this period. If we wish to\ncomplete the picture of the devastation of Armenia, we must name\nZenghis Khan, Tamerlane (1387), and other enemies of the human race,\nbut we will not enter into particulars of their work of desolation.\n\nThe period whose history we have sketched (twelfth to fourteenth\ncenturies), especially the two former centuries, is called the Silver\nAge of Armenian literature. The independence of Armenia gave a\nbreathing space which facilitated the production of literary works.\nThis is the period of the revival of learning and also the period when\nArmenia came in contact with the countries of Western Europe and became\nacquainted with Western civilisation.\n\nCatholicos Nerses, surnamed \u201cthe Gracious,\u201d is the most brilliant\nauthor of the beginning of this period (1100\u20131173). He was the\ngreat-grandchild of Grigor Magistros, and his brother Grigorios was\nCatholicos before him. His songs and sharakans are greatly loved by the\npeople and some of the latter are sung in the churches. He was\ncanonised as a saint. Nerses was the first Armenian to write very long\npoems. He followed his great-grandfather in using rhyme. There is a\ngreat variety of metre in his works. As a rule his long poems are\nwritten in eight-feet lines, the same rhyme being employed nearly\nthroughout the poem. This practice he abandoned in certain cases for,\nas he himself remarks, \u201cit might tire the reader\u201d! He has also\npoems written in couplets of short lines, which are the most musical\nand successful of his works. Some of his poems have peculiarities of\ntheir own. He sometimes begins the lines of the first stanza with A,\nthose of the next with B, and so on in alphabetical order, or he uses\nthe same letter for the beginning of the first line and the conclusion\nof the last. He also sometimes makes metrical acrostics of his own\nname. Of course these contrivances were in common use in his time.\nSometimes he makes acrostics of the titles or names in dedications of\nhis poems. But these artificialities do not spoil the poem or give the\nimpression of a tour de force, in fact they are so unobtrusive that\nthey might easily escape the reader\u2019s notice. In all he has written\n15,000 lines.\n\nOne of his long poems entitled Jesus the Son consists of 4000\neight-feet lines. These lines, with very few exceptions, end with the\nArmenian syllable -in. Some of the songs in this poem are very\nbeautiful and are sung in churches.\n\nAnother of his long poems is an elegy on the Fall of Edessa which was\ntaken from the Crusaders by the Turks in 1144. This is an allegory: the\ntown itself recounts its misfortunes and addresses itself to other\ncities of the world, to the mountains, to the seas, and begs them not\nto judge her by what she is in her present condition, but assures them\nthat she was once a crown bearer and in a most happy state, but now she\nis in mourning, and misfortune has befallen her. As Nerses was a\ncontemporary of the event which forms the subject of the poem, the\nlatter has an historical value, being a first-hand source of\ninformation relating to the times of the Crusaders.\n\nNerses also wrote a long poem narrating the history of Armenia from the\ndays of Haik up to his own time. Leo III., one hundred and fifty years\nafter the poet\u2019s death, asked the bishop Vahram Rabun to continue the\npoem from the death of Nerses to his own time (1275), thus giving the\nannals of the Rubinian dynasty. In writing this sequel, in 1500 lines,\nhe said: \u201cIt is a bold act to continue the work of Nerses the\nGracious,\u201d but he adds that, knowing that with gold thread embroidery\nblack threads are sometimes introduced, he consented to undertake the\nlabour.\n\nIt is not within our province here to describe the great work achieved\nby Nerses in other directions, but he was much beloved by his people\nand has left an immortal name as the greatest personality of his age.\nWe only here record one incident to show the breadth of his ideas. In\nthe town of Edessa pestilence was raging and sufferers from the disease\nwere taken out of the town and segregated. It was considered hopeless\nto cure them, as it was believed that the disease came as a punishment\nfrom God. Nerses sent out an epistle to the plague-stricken people,\noffering them consolation, saying that, in compensation for their\nsuffering, they would receive eternal bliss. In this letter, he\ndeclares that the disease was not sent from Heaven as a punishment and\npeople should not avoid the sick; on the contrary, it was their duty to\ncare for their brethren when they were in distress, and he assured them\nthat, with patience and right treatment, it was possible to get rid of\nthe disease.\n\nThis counsel made an immense impression on the people, as they had the\nword of the Catholicos that this was not a heaven-sent chastisement;\nthey nursed the patients and in a short time the pestilence was stayed.\n\nThis idea of Nerses, though it is now commonly held, was very\nremarkable in the age in which he lived. Nerses the Gracious is\nconsidered the F\u00e9nelon of Armenia. Some of his elegies are perfect\ngems of poetic art. One of his prayers is divided into twenty-four\nverses, according to the twenty-four hours, one verse to be used each\nhour, but, seeing that this is sometimes impracticable, he says that it\nmight be read in three portions of light verses in the morning, at\nnoon, and at night. If this division is also impossible, he recommends\nthat it should be read in two portions, in the morning and evening.\nThis prayer has been translated into thirty-six languages, of which\nEnglish is one.\n\nAn example of the work of Nerses the Gracious, entitled \u201cThe Arrival\nof the Crusaders,\u201d is given in this volume on page 58.\n\nThis is hardly a representative poem and is not the best specimen of\nthe author\u2019s work. It was inserted because of the interest of the\nCrusades for Europeans. The gems of his work may be found among the\nsharakans, which we can say without hesitation will bear comparison\nwith any work of this class in any language of the world.\nUnfortunately, it is impossible to do justice to these hymns in a\ntranslation. Nerses also wrote verses for children, and riddles, both\nin the vernacular.\n\nIn general, his language is simple and expressive. He also composed\nshort fables, according to a contemporary historian; some of these were\nrecited at weddings and other festivals.\n\nMkhitar Gosh was the author of one hundred and fifty fables, marked by\ngood taste, purity, and elegance. He died in 1213. He is called the\nAesop of Armenia.\n\nThe following is a specimen of Mkhitar Gosh\u2019s fables: The owl sent\nmatchmakers to the eagle, asking his daughter in marriage, in these\nterms: \u201cYou are the ruler of the day; I am the ruler of the night. It\nwill be better for us to form an alliance by marriage.\u201d\n\nThe proposal was accepted.\n\nAfter the wedding, the bridegroom could not see by day and the bride\ncould not see by night. Therefore the falcons ridiculed them, and their\nmarriage was unhappy.\n\nThis fable is meant as a warning against marriages between Christians\nand pagans.\n\nMany of Mkhitar Gosh\u2019s fables are very original and have a charm of\ntheir own.\n\nAnother famous fabulist was Vardan Aigektzi. His collection of fables\nis called The Book of the Fox. Several additions have been made to this\nwork by later hands, so that the book has no uniformity of style and\nsome fables in the collection are childish and trivial.\n\nThis is one of the fables in this book:\n\nMankind is like three fools. The first went to the tops of the\nmountains trying to catch a wind, and take it home, but though he tried\na hundred years he never caught a wind that was as big as a drop of\nrain. The second, taking with him a number of servants and a great deal\nof money, sat down by the side of a river, trying to use its waters as\na tablet on which to inscribe an elegy, but he could not form a word or\ntrace a letter, though he laboured for a hundred years. The third tried\nto surpass the others by undertaking two enterprises at once. He had a\nhuge bow made with arrows to match, and tried by night to shoot at the\nstars and other heavenly bodies and bring them home, that he alone\nmight have light, but he could not catch a spark. Besides this, during\nthe day he ran after his own shadow, but never caught it, though he\ntried for a hundred years.\n\nThe moral of this fable is the futility of human life and human\nendeavour. \u201cVanity of vanities; all is vanity.\u201d\n\nMoses Kaghankatvatzi (seventh century) mentions in his history some\ninteresting fables. In one of them, which arose when there was a great\nfamine in the land, the story is put into the mouth of a\npersonification of the grain millet, whose narrative is to this\neffect:\u2014\n\n\u201cI, Millet, was lying in an unknown place in the village of Kaku, in\nthe province of Shakashen. All the purchasers treated me with contempt\nand rejected me. Then came my brother, Famine, and dominated the land.\nFrom that day I went and sat on the tables of the King and the\nCatholicos.\u201d\n\nArmenian apologues and proverbial sayings are worthy of attention. Here\nare a few characteristic specimens; some of these are rhymed in the\noriginal, in others the contrasted words rhyme:\u2014\n\nOne fool threw a stone into a well; forty wise men were unable to get\nit out.\n\nHe crossed the sea safely, and was drowned in a brook.\n\nThey were reading the Gospel over the wolf\u2019s head. He said: \u201cHurry\nup! The sheep will get past.\u201d\n\nThey asked the partridge: \u201cWhy are your feet red?\u201d \u201cFrom the\ncold,\u201d he replied. \u201cWe have seen you in the summer as well,\u201d they\nrejoined.\n\nAre you the corn of the upper field? (Who are you that you should be\nset above others?)\n\nA black cat has passed between them. (Referring to friends who have\nquarrelled.)\n\nWhenever you touch a stone, may it become gold! (A blessing.)\n\nThe donkey began its tricks on the bridge.\n\nLight for others, fire for the house. (A saint abroad, a devil at\nhome.)\n\nThe black donkey is tied up at the gate. (A worthless thing is always\nat hand.)\n\nHere is a riddle by Nerses Shnorhali:\u2014\n\nI saw an outspread white tent, wherein black hens were perched, that\nlaid eggs of various kinds and spoke in human language. (A book.)\n\nBetween the end of the thirteenth century and the beginning of the\nfourteenth lived, almost contemporaneously, three great poets, all\necclesiastics:\u2014Constantine Erzingatzi, Hovhannes Erzingatzi, and\nFrik, who were almost the last singers of the dying Armenian kingdom.\n\nThe first of these, Constantine Erzingatzi, was born about 1250\u20131260\nin Erzingan. From early youth he showed poetic talent and gained favour\nfrom the people, but incurred the jealousy of his own associates. In\none of his poems he says he cannot tell why his enemies hate him and\nexpresses a desire to know their reason. Erzingatzi had a friend, a\ncertain Amir Tol, who lived in Tabriz. Erzingatzi used to send his\npoems, as he wrote them, to this friend, who entered them in a book.\nThe poems in this collection number twenty-two. The manuscript is\npreserved in the library of St. Lazare, Venice. The themes of\nErzingatzi\u2019s poems are\u2014among other things\u2014the love of the rose\nand the nightingale, the beauty of nature, the wedding of the flowers,\nspring, dawn, and morning. In his love poems, he throws over his\nemotions a mystic veil of celestial hue, and some of his lines rise to\na higher level than ordinary amorous verse. For him, love and beauty\nare one and the same. He says that one who is without love has no sense\nof beauty. He calls his lady-love a breeze of spring, and himself a\nthirsty flower, but a flower on which only a hot southern blast is ever\nblowing, so that his love-thirst continually endures. He likens his\nmistress to the radiant heavenly bodies\u2014the sun, moon, and\nstars\u2014but her light is stronger than that of all other luminaries,\nfor it alone can illumine his darkened heart.\n\nErzingatzi says that, if he is to have any share in the life of love in\nthis world, he will be content with one hour of \u201cmorning love\u201d that\nsprings from the heart. For that he is willing to exchange his life. He\nprays to God for such love, always emphasising the word \u201cmorning.\u201d\n\nAmong his works is a beautiful poem on Spring, which begins with a\nhundred thousand thanksgivings for the blessing that has flown down\nfrom heaven to earth:\u2014\n\n\u201cIt was dark and every stone was ice-bound; there was not a green\nherb, but now the earth arrays itself anew. The winter was like a\nprison, the spring like a sun that rises in the night. Everything is\nmerry and joyous; even the dew-bringing cloud thunders gently, spanning\nthe earth with its bow and causing many swift rivers to flow, which,\nwithout distinction, throw into rapturous intoxication all places of\nthe earth.\n\n\u201cTerribly roar the streams that come down from the mountains, but,\nafter strolling to and fro among the meadows in loving fashion, pass on\nto touch the face of the sea.\n\n\u201cThe birds sing sweetly; the swallow chants psalms, the lark comes,\nreciting the praise of the morning. All leap into life\u2014plants, birds,\nbeasts with their offspring; they all form themselves into one great\nflock and dance together. The flowers have assembled in the garden. The\nNightingale, proclaiming the glad things of the great resurrection,\nalso enters the garden, seeking the Rose.\n\n\u201cWhen the time is ripe, she opens, and the other flowers, when they\nsee the splendour of the Rose, run off, over hill and dale, and, from\nfear, lose their colour. The Nightingale is intoxicated with the sweet\nodour of the Rose. Then takes place a festival of nature and the Rose\nsings her own praise.\u201d\n\nThe original text of this poem is a real achievement as regards\nlanguage, poetical expressions, and art, showing that Erzingatzi was a\nmaster of his craft.\n\nErzingatzi was also the author of a long narrative poem, called Farman\nand Asman, recounting the love adventures of a Persian princess. This\nwas composed at the request of a Syrian knight and shows some traces of\nPersian influence.\n\nAnother long narrative poem of this writer, entitled A Girl\u2019s\nQuestions, seems to owe something to Arabic literature.\n\nErzingatzi is also the author of many didactic poems. Here are a few\nstanzas from another of his poems:\u2014\n\n\n            \u201cWaken from your dreams\n            And behold, you that were sleeping,\n            How through all the night\n            They their sleepless watch are keeping.\n            Ever circling round\n            By the will of God who made them:\n            And heaven\u2019s arches wide\n            To uplift and hold He bade them.\n\n            \u201cI awoke from sleep\n            And a while I stood and waited.\n            When the long night passed,\n            When appeared the dawn belated,\u2014\n            Many stars of light\n            Watching stood to greet the morning;\n            Servants of our God,\n            All the sky of night adorning.\n\n            \u201cThen a Star arose\n            Near the Morning Star, in Heaven;\n            Fairer than all stars,\n            Radiance to that Star was given.\n\n            \u201cWhen the moon beheld\n            She bade all the stars to vanish.\n            All turned pale, and set,\n            As she spoke their light to banish.\n            Cleared was heaven\u2019s face\n            And the sun arose in splendour;\n            Then a Child appeared,\n            Sweet the Name He had, and tender.\u201d [41]\n\n\nHovhannes Erzingatzi (b. 1250) was educated in a monastery on the\nconfines of Georgia and Armenia under a bishop who was renowned for his\nlearning. He returned to Erzingan in 1272 and travelled to Jerusalem in\n1281, in the course of his journey passing through Cilicia in order to\nvisit the Armenian royal seat, where King Leon was then reigning. By\nhis learning and talents he attracted the attention of the Catholicos,\nwho appointed him director of all the schools in the city.\n\nBy order of the Catholicos, he wrote a grammar, remarkable for its dear\nand comprehensible style and language. He also came under the notice of\nthe king. At the annual horse race two of the king\u2019s sons were among\nthe competitors. On this occasion Erzingatzi made a speech, which left\na great impression and gained him recognition as an orator. In Cilicia\nhe learnt Latin and made several translations from that language into\nArmenian. He wrote many Biblical commentaries, besides other religious\nand devotional works, as well as treatises on astrology; but his fame\nrests chiefly on his verse. In addition to religious and moral poems,\nhe wrote love songs, and lays relating to nature. In his ethical as\nwell as in his love poems we find quaint metaphors and similes.\n\nAs, for instance, in the following stanza, where our poet seems to be\nforestalling Bunyan:\u2014\n\n\n            \u201cAll my sins I once amassed\n            And sat down before them weeping.\n            When the caravan went past\n            With my load I followed, leaping.\n            Then an angel that we met,\n            \u2018Woful pilgrim, whither farest?\n            Thou wilt there no lodging get\n            With that burden that thou bearest.\u2019\u201d\n\n\nIn another poem, entitled \u201cLike an Ocean is this World,\u201d which\nappears on page 59 of this volume, he uses the metaphor afterwards\nemployed in Donne\u2019s Hymn to Christ and Tennyson\u2019s Crossing the Bar.\n\nHis love poems are exquisitely fresh and rich.\n\nThe aesthetic character of his love and his enthusiasm for beauty are\nshown by his declaration, in one of the poems, after a rapturous\nexpression of his passion for a lady of whom he gives a rich-hued\nword-portrait, that the only thing that keeps his feelings within\nbounds is the knowledge that, after death, her face will wither and its\ncolours fade.\n\nIn 1284 he went to Tiflis, the capital town of Georgia, where he gave,\nin the newly-built church, on the occasion of its opening, a discourse\non the movements of the heavenly bodies. This subject had a great\nfascination for him and he treated it in a manner that deeply impressed\nhis hearers, including the king\u2019s son who was present. His discourse\nwas not a sermon, but a poetical oration. On the prince\u2019s asking him\nto write a poem on the same subject, he wrote one of a thousand lines.\nAt the desire of another prince, he composed another poem on the same\ntheme.\n\nKhachatur Kecharetzi (better known by his pen-name, Frik) was a priest\nwho was born at the end of the thirteenth century and died about 1330.\nHe wrote many poems, several of which are of an allegorical character;\nalso laments on the state of his country, and several mystic and other\nreligious poems, as well as love songs; but his most characteristic\nwork is the poem addressed to God, asking why He is unmindful of the\nterrible condition of the Armenian nation, and also enumerating the\ninequalities of the world, showing how the wicked prosper and the\nrighteous suffer.\n\n\u201cIf we are useless creatures\u201d (he says) \u201cunworthy of Thy care,\nwhy dost Thou not entirely destroy us?\u201d\n\nAn extract from this long poem is given in this volume on page xv.\n\nAt the close of the fourteenth century, the glory of Cilicia vanished,\nas the Armenian kingdom became extinct, after an existence of nearly\nthree hundred years; and Armenia once more became the scene of turmoil\nand bloodshed.\n\nThe fifteenth century opened with the invasion of Tamerlane, when the\ncountry was again desolated and subdued. This was a century of the\noverthrow of Eastern civilisation.\n\nThe Byzantine Empire, shaken from its foundation, was dashed to pieces,\nand its capital, Constantinople, fell into the hands of the Ottomans\n(1453), a new Mohammedan power, which aspired to become master of the\nwhole of Asia. The Turcomans and, later, the Persians, tried to check\nthe advance of the Turks into their territories. Hence commenced a long\nseries of wars between the two Mohammedan states which continued\nthrough four centuries, and Armenia passed now into the hands of the\none, now into the hands of the other. The country was again the scene\nof war, wherein reigned desolation, fire, and death.\n\nAfter the occupation of Constantinople, Turkish influence extended over\nmost of the eastern part of Armenia.\n\nFrom this time, migrations of Armenians out of their own country into\ndifferent parts of the world became more frequent.\n\nTwenty years after the invention of printing (1476) a grammar in many\ntongues was published in France, which contains several pages in\nArmenian.\n\nIn 1512 the first Armenian printed book was issued in Venice. After\nthat Armenians set up presses in various countries.\n\nNotwithstanding the political position of the country, its poetry\ncontinued to flourish and assumed a definite character; and the voices\nof the poets rose continually louder and louder. This century, together\nwith the two preceding and the two following ones, forms a flourishing\nage for poetry.\n\nThe chief poets of this century are:\u2014Hovhannes Tulkourantzi, Mkrtich\nNaghash, Grigoris of Aghtamar, Nahapet Kouchak, Arakel Sunetzi.\n\nHovhannes Tulkourantzi (1450\u20131525) was Catholicos of Sis. He is a\npoet of the days of spring, flowers, beauty, love. He wrote also moral\nand religious poems, besides other things. He cannot understand how it\nis possible for one who loves a beautiful woman to grow old and die.\n\n\u201cWhosoever loves you, how can he die? How can his face grow pale in\ndeath?\u201d\n\nHe sings of the sanctity of family life, warning his readers against\nthe strange woman \u201cwho brings torment and grief. Even his lawful wife\nbrought trouble to Adam; what then is to be expected of the\nstranger?\u201d\n\nHe has a striking poem on Death, which he addresses thus:\u2014\n\n\n    \u201cThere is nothing so bitter as thou, no venom is more bitter;\n    only Hell surpasseth thee, and it is thou who bringest Hell in thy\n    train. Solomon remembered thee, saying, \u2018Of what profit is my\n    wisdom? Say not I am a King possessing gold and treasures.\u2019\n\n    \u201cAlas, O death! thou hast a grudge against the sons of Adam and\n    thou avengest thyself on them.\n\n    \u201cThou didst not consider that Moses was a prophet, nor art thou\n    ashamed of assaulting David; thou takest even Father Abraham; thou\n    draggest King Tiridates from his throne; and thou respectest not\n    the Emperor Constantine. [42]\n\n    \u201cIf a hero is attended by 1000 horsemen and arrayed in six coats\n    of armour, thou shootest thine arrows at him and bringest him down,\n    then thou castest him into prison and before the entrance thou\n    placest a great stone.\u201d\n\n\nThe poem continues:\u2014\n\n\n            \u201cLike an eagle flying far,\n            Forth on wide-spread wings thou farest;\n            All the strong ones of the earth\n            In thy wing-tips rolled thou bearest.\u201d\n\n\nIn other poems we see his susceptibility to passion and his sense of\nlove\u2019s power. In one of these poems he depicts [43] a bishop of 100\nyears old whose beard had turned from white to yellow and who, when\nofficiating at the altar, suddenly uttered the name of a lady in his\ninvocation before the cross.\n\nMkrtich Naghash was Archbishop of Diarbekr. He lived when the country\nwas in difficult political circumstances. His talents were appreciated\nnot only by Armenians, but also by the Mohammedan rulers with whom,\nthanks to his tact, he established friendly relations, whereby he was\nable to protect his compatriots from many oppressions. He built a\nchurch, which he adorned with beautiful pictures of his own painting.\nBut, after the death of the Mohammedan princes who were his patrons,\ntyranny and oppression began again under their successors. He went to\nByzantium to solicit aid for his suffering countrymen, but returned\ndisappointed.\n\nBesides his artistic skill, he was a poet of considerable merit. His\npoems are generally on moral and religious themes\u2014the vanity of the\nworld, avarice, and so forth; he also wrote songs of exile, and love\nsongs.\n\nIn his poem on avarice he says that that vice is the root of all evil:\n\u201cKings and princes are continually fighting against one another,\nwatering the country with blood. They destroy flourishing towns; they\ndrive the inhabitants into exile; and spread desolation wherever they\ngo; and all this is through avarice.\u201d\n\nHe goes on to specify other evils springing from this sin.\n\nIn the love songs of Mkrtich Naghash, the Rose and the Nightingale\nwhisper to each other fiery love speeches complaining of each other\u2019s\ncruelty. Then they admonish each other not to let their passion consume\nthem, and sing each other\u2019s praises.\n\nThis is an extract from one of his songs of exile: \u201cThe thoughts of\nan exile from his country are wanderers like himself. If his mind is\nwiser than Solomon\u2019s, if his words are precious pearls, in a foreign\nland they bid him be silent and call him an ignorant fool. His death is\nas bitter as his life; there is no one to cross his hands over his\nheart; they laugh as they cover him with earth; no mourner follows him\nto the grave. But I, Naghash, say that an exile\u2019s heart is tender. In\na foreign land, what is sweet seems gall; the rose becomes a thorn.\nSpeak gently to an exile; give him a helping hand, and you will expiate\nyour sins which rankle like thorns.\u201d\n\nThese songs of exile (or pilgrim songs) are a special feature of\nArmenian poetry and for ages have been written by various poets. They\nare original and often quaint and express the feelings of Armenians who\nlive far from their native mountains and fields, showing how they pine\nfor the land of their birth, reflecting the natural beauties of their\nfatherland, and their yearning for their hearth and the dear faces of\nhome.\n\nIn 1469 in the town of Mardin there was an epidemic of smallpox, which\ncaused many deaths. He thus describes one of the victims: \u201cA youth\nbeautiful to see, the image of the sun; his brows were arches; his eyes\nlike lamps guiding him by their light. This lovely child lay on the\nground, writhing piteously, looking to right and left, while the\nterrible Angel of Death was busily engaged in loosing the cords of his\nsoul. Then the boy cried, saying: \u2018Pity me and save me from the hands\nof this holy angel, for I am young.\u2019 Then he turned to his father,\nand asking help from him, said: \u2018There are a thousand desires in my\nheart and not one of them fulfilled.\u2019\n\n\u201cThe father answered: \u2018I would not begrudge gold and silver for thy\nredemption; but these are of no avail. I would willingly give my life\nfor thine.\u2019 In the end the light of the child\u2019s life was\nextinguished; the lovely hue of his face faded; his sea-like eyes lost\ntheir lustre; the power of his graceful arm was cut off.\u201d\n\nHere is a translation in verse of a poem on a mysterious Flower:\u2014\n\n\n            \u201cAll the lovely flowers that were\n            One by one have left and gone,\n            One Flower too there was that went\n            Mourned and wept by every one.\n            Sweetest fragrance had that Flower,\n            Scent that filled the earth and air,\n            So that all the flowers of earth\n            Sought in love this Blossom fair.\n            Some for this sweet Flow\u2019ret\u2019s sake\n            Paled and withered languidly;\n            Many for this Flow\u2019ret\u2019s sake\n            Blossomed like the almond tree.\n            God Himself had sent that Flower,\n            But all did not know its worth.\n            He that gave took back His own,\n            Many wept upon the earth.\n            And the Flower went to a place\n            Where all flowers rejoiced and smiled;\n            Flowers of many a brilliant hue\n            With its sweetness it beguiled.\n            From its beauty other flowers\n            Borrowed lustre, and they glowed;\n            Every blossom in its kind\n            To that Flower knelt and bowed.\u201d\n\n\nGrigoris of Aghtamar was born about 1418 and was Catholicos of\nAghtamar, an island in the Lake of Van, which has picturesque\nsurroundings fit to inspire a poet; so that it is not surprising that\nour Catholicos became a singer animated by poetic fire, the exponent of\nlove and beauty\u2014of the Nightingale and the Rose.\n\nIt is evident, from his works, that Grigoris had a great love of life.\nWe see this especially in a poem entitled The Gardener and his Garden.\nThe Gardener, says the poet, enters his garden every morning and hears\nthe sweet voice of the nightingale as he examines the newly planted\nflowers of various colours. This beautiful spot he surrounds with a\nhedge, bringing stones from the river, thorns from the mountain. He has\njust built arbours, made a fountain, introduced little running brooks,\nand planted vines, when, all of a sudden, a voice utters the command:\n\u201cCome out of thy garden.\u201d It is Death who beckons him out. He\nexpostulates: \u201cI have not yet seen life and light; I have not yet\nseen the fruit of the garden; I have not yet smelt the rose; I have not\nyet drunk my wine or filled my casks; I have not plucked flowers for a\nnosegay. I have not yet rejoiced over my garden.\u201d\n\nBut his prayers are not heeded; obedient to the unchangeable law of the\nuniverse, he at last capitulates to the Angel of Death.\n\nAfter describing the Gardener\u2019s death and burial, the poet goes on to\ntell what happens to the garden after its owner has left it; the rose\nfades; the other flowers disappear; the hedge is broken down, and what\nwas once a lovely garden becomes a scene of desolation.\n\nThis is his description of the face of his lady-love. He likens her\neyebrows to a sword; the sparkle of her eyes to a sharp lance; her eyes\nto the sunlit sea. She is, he says, as straight as a willow; her lips\nare like harp strings; her teeth, a row of pearls; her tongue is sugar;\nand, wherever she rests, the place becomes a garden. She has fragrance\nsweeter than the violet of the spring; she is like a white rose, pure\nand sweet, like a newly opened flower; a young almond plant. Her face\nis red and white, like an apple of the forest. She soars high, like a\ndaring eagle. She is brilliant as a peacock with golden feathers.\n\nWe have in this volume (page 52) a translation of one of Grigoris\u2019\nlonger poems, entitled \u201cConcerning the Rose and the Nightingale,\u201d\nin which it is interesting to note that\u2014quaintly enough\u2014the poet\ngives the text of a letter sent with great pomp, by special messengers,\nto the Rose; adding the consequence which followed, and the verbal\nanswer returned.\n\nThe subject of the Rose and the Nightingale is a Persian one\noriginally, but the outstanding characteristics of the Armenian\nversions consist in the refinements and subtleties of the feelings\ndescribed, the deference paid to the Rose, and the idea of continuity\nand faithfulness in love. These feelings are minutely described in this\nbeautiful poem, and summed up in the Rose\u2019s message to the\nNightingale on p. 56:\u2014\n\n\n            \u201cI cannot there return immediately;\n            A little he must wait, in patient wise:\n            But if his love is perfectly with me,\n            Tell him to look for it in Paradise.\u201d\n\n\nThese ideals constitute the difference between the mentality of\nMohammedanism and Christianity.\n\nNahapet Kouchak was a fine poet of the seventeenth century. He is\ncalled the Psalmist of Love. Although there is a slight resemblance in\nstyle between his writings and those of the Persian poets, his poetry\nis original. The works attributed to him have only recently been\npublished as a whole; they have been translated into French and other\nlanguages, and greatly admired. Some critics have placed him higher\nthan Sadi and other Persian poets. (Examples of his work are given on\npages 4, 5, and 31.)\n\nArakel Sunetzi was the Metropolitan of the province of Suni. He appears\nto have possessed a thorough acquaintance with the writings of his\ntime. His chief work is the Book of Adam, a long narrative poem,\ntelling the story of the Fall in the style of a romance in which\ntheology, lyrics, heroic lays, and folklore are all fused together.\n\nAdam, though because of his great love for his wife he was inclined to\nyield to her petition, yet wavered, not knowing whether to hearken to\nhis spouse or to his Creator. \u201cBut his mind went with his eyes; he\ndeserted God, but not the woman; for, without Eve, half of his body was\ndead, and with the other half it was impossible to live.\u201d\n\nAmong the lyrics in this book is one entitled The Rib, of which we\nsubjoin two stanzas:\u2014\n\n\n            \u201cThe rib is bow-shaped, so her face,\n            Sped by her looks, is like a dart;\n            Who gazeth on a woman\u2019s grace,\n            No salve or drug can cure his smart.\n\n            \u201cAnd for the rib is high and low\u2014\n            One side is vaulted, one is round,\n            Her face doth love and sweetness show\n            Whilst in her heart fierce hate is found.\u201d\n\n\nHere is a passage from another poem of Sunetzi\u2019s entitled The Glory\nof the Saints, describing the Resurrection:\u2014\n\n\n            \u201cOpened are the tombs;\n            Now rise the dead that long in dust have lain.\n            Decked with brilliant hues,\n            Bright as the sun, they cannot fade again.\n            While the earth, renewed,\n            Doth greet the Lord, all fresh and dazzling white;\n            And the heavens are decked\n            More richly than before, sevenfold more bright.\n            Then in heaven shines forth\n            With arms stretched out like rays, the Holy Rood.\n            With the Cross appear\n            The hosts of fire\u2014a countless multitude.\n            Butterflies dance forth\n            Amongst the angels\u2014none may mark them out.\u201d\n\n\nIn the sixteenth century, Turkish and Persian wars became fiercer and\nthe Armenian history of this century becomes the record of the\nsufferings of the country during these wars. Poets of this period were\nNerses Mokatzi, Minas Tokhatzi, Ghazar of Sebastia, Sarkavak Bertaktzi.\n\nNerses Mokatzi was an ecclesiastic and poet. Very few of his works have\ncome down to us. One of the poems we have\u2014entitled The Dispute\nbetween Heaven and Earth\u2014is interesting. The poet begins by saying\nthat Heaven and Earth are brothers. One day these brothers disputed as\nto which of them was the greater. \u201cOf course,\u201d says the poet,\n\u201cthe Heaven is high, but the Earth is more fruitful.\u201d\n\nHe then goes on to report a dialogue between the brothers in which each\nenumerates his own possessions, declaring them superior to those of the\nother. The following is a short prose summary of this dialogue:\u2014\n\n\n    Heaven. Surely I possess more than you. The stars, with their\n    radiance, are all in my domain.\n\n    Earth. The flowers, with their six thousand colours, are in mine.\n\n    Heaven. If I withhold my dew, how will your flowers array\n    themselves?\n\n    Earth. You derive your dew from the sea, which originates in me. If\n    I cut off the source of the sea, how would you get your dew?\n\n    Heaven. I have something else that you have not: should I veil my\n    sun your flowers would fade.\n\n    Earth. Oh, I will bring forth waters from my abyss to keep my\n    flowers alive.\n\n    Heaven. The lightning and the hail could destroy your flowers if I\n    willed it so.\n\n    Earth. I have mountains and valleys that would intercept them and\n    shield the flowers.\n\n    Heaven. All brave and wise men are buried in your depths.\n\n    Earth. When God recalls the souls that are His, what is to be done?\n    If I did not receive and conceal their bodies, the angels would\n    flee from the deathly odour, and Heaven and Earth would be shaken.\n\n    Heaven. The Nine Orders of Angels are all here with me.\n\n    Earth. In my realm are the Apostles and Prophets.\n\n    Heaven. I am the Heaven of Seven Regions; the Sun, the Moon, and\n    the Creator-God sitting on His throne all have their abode in me.\n\n    Earth. Your Seven Regions will be shaken from their foundation. The\n    Sun, the Moon, and the Stars will be cast into the darkness and\n    your Creator-God, with His throne, will descend to me. The Judgment\n    will be held in my domain.\n\n                \u201cHeaven then bent down its head\n            To the Earth in adoration,\n                You too, children of the Earth,\n            Bow to her in adoration.\n                What is higher than the Earth?\n            Praise and love bring to enwreathe her.\n                For to-day we walk on her\n            And to-morrow sleep beneath her.\u201d [44]\n\n\nThis poem is interesting, as it breathes the spirit of the revival of\npopular poetry, with its worship of nature, beauty, and love, of which\nthings the Earth is the personification. Hence the poet exalts Earth\nabove Heaven. Here we see also a change of ideas. The older Christian\npoets were churchmen and sang contempt of the present world and\nconcentration on the joys of heaven. This new note, struck from the\nbeginning of the fifteenth century, gradually grows bolder, and sounds\nforth daringly, as we hear it in this poem, which seems all the more\nremarkable when we remember that its author was a priest. This is the\nsong, not of a lover of vanities, but, rather, of an enthusiast, who\nloves beauty and has learnt that it is good to live on the earth,\nbecause it also contains beautiful things that are worth living for.\nThis poem also shows the conquest of learning and science which, at the\ntime it was written, had found their way into Armenia as well as\nelsewhere, perhaps through the new Armenian colonies formed in Europe\nand other parts of the world.\n\nMinas Tokhatzi, a humorous poet, lived in Poland. He wrote verses on\nToothache and on Tobacco (descanting on its objectionable odour and\nshowing how the smoker becomes its slave); also on Flies.\n\nTo convey an idea of his art, we give the substance of the last-named\nwork:\u2014\n\n\u201cThe flies,\u201d says the poet, \u201cfor some reason or other, went forth\nto combat against me. They also entered into a conspiracy with my\npenknife. Knowing of this, I implored the knife not to listen to the\naccursed insects, who had already caused me enough pain. The attack was\nbegun in a novel fashion; the flies came, buzzing, in gay and merry\nmood, and settled on my hands and arms in a friendly manner, asking me\nto write them something in red ink. At the same time, the penknife,\nplaying me a perfidious trick, cut my hand. I protested against this\ntreatment. The penknife justified itself by saying it had acted thus\nbecause I had told a lie. I got a few moments\u2019 rest, after this, from\nthe flies, till, at dinner-time, I met with three of them, who\nannounced that more were coming. The combat was renewed. During the\nnight, the flies were relieved by their allies, the fleas.\u201d\n\nGhazar of Sebastia, an ecclesiastic, has fallen under the spell of some\neyes \u201cas deep as the sea.\u201d He describes the torment under which he\nis pining away and his longing for his mistress\u2019s arrival, like the\nlonging of a patient for his physician. The face of his love (he says)\nis like glistening amber; her eyes are so bewitching, that\n\n\n        \u201cThe sun and moon have unto thee come down,\n        Lovingly on thy locks they hang, and gleam;\n        And clustering stars thy beauteous forehead crown,\n        Aflame and drunken with thy love they seem.\u201d\n\n\nThere is nothing known of Sarkavak Bertaktzi, but this poem from his\npen is interesting:\u2014\n\n\n            \u201cO vine, you should commended be\n            For you are beautiful to see;\n            Your fruit is of all fruits most fair:\u2014\n            The crown and diadem they wear.\n            Like strands of gold your branches spread,\n            Like ropes of pearl the grapes they thread.\n            For some are dark and some are white,\n            And some are red, transmitting light.\n            Some glow like amber in the dusk,\n            Perfumed with frankincense and musk.\n            Left us by the Creator\u2019s care,\u2014\n            From Eden\u2019s fields a keepsake rare.\n            To us on earth you seem to be\n            The fruit of immortality.\n            To Noah you were by angels borne\n            His heart to gladden and adorn.\n            Your fruit when gathered from the vine\n            Unto the wine-press we assign;\n            Your juice like crimson roses glows\n            And through the press in torrents flows.\n            Then into jars we pour the meath,\n            There without fire to boil and seethe.\n            How many kings around you press,\n            Your name how many princes bless!\n            The Sovereign\u2019s heart you fill with joy,\n            With power to conquer and destroy;\n            If he is wroth with any man,\n            And places him beneath his ban,\n            One drop of you immediately\n            Would move his heart to set him free.\n            The man that from his birth was blind,\n            Drinking of you, his sight doth find;\n            Of glorious cities he can tell,\n            Wherein his footsteps never fell.\n            The dumb, that halted in his speech,\n            To prate with fluency you teach.\n            More glibly than a parrot, he\n            Will jest and wanton dotingly.\n            At mass, within the sacred cup,\n            The holy priest doth raise you up.\n            Disease and pain through you will cease,\n            By you all sinners find release.\n            To town and village you are borne,\n            To convent, wilderness forlorn;\n            Where men do not your sparkle see,\n            No mass nor service can there be.\u201d\n\n\nThe seventeenth century resembles its predecessor as regards the\npolitical position of Armenia, except that the misery is even greater.\n\nDuring the last years of the eighteenth century, the Russian conquest\nof Armenia began.\n\nAt the end of the eighteenth century an Armenian monk named Mkhitar\nSepastatzi established at St. Lazare in Venice an Armenian Brotherhood,\nwho devoted themselves to literature. This Brotherhood is still in\nexistence, and has a branch in Vienna. During this period of more than\na century its members have printed hundreds of old MSS. of historical\nvalue. They have also produced many works dealing with history and\nother branches of learning, and translations of foreign classics, thus\nrendering a great service to Armenian literature.\n\nIt will be remembered that Byron stayed at St. Lazare and studied\nArmenian, He actually took part in the publication of an\nArmenian-English dictionary and grammar.\n\nFor centuries music and song have become a joy to Armenians through\nminstrels called ashoughs. Ashoughs are invited to all weddings and\nother festivities, where they are the life of the party and the makers\nof merriment. They sing also on the bridges and in the squares, and\nwander from courtyard to courtyard. Their song is not always merry; it\nis sometimes sad, sometimes even bitter. They always carry with them\ntheir saz or tar or kamancha, oriental instruments, on which they\naccompany their songs. Many of the ashoughs are blind. To be an ashough\nis considered a high attainment. In order to acquire the art, any one\nwho aspires to become an ashough first observes a fast of seven weeks,\nthen goes to the monastery of Sourb Karapet, which is the Parnassus of\nArmenian musicians. \u201cSourb Karapet\u201d is John the Baptist, who is the\npatron saint of Armenian minstrels. In the Near East, ashoughs (who are\nmostly Armenians) are greatly admired not only by Armenians, but by\nPersians, Turks, and other races, as some of them sing in other\nlanguages besides Armenian. Some ashoughs sing their own verses, but as\na rule the songs are the composition of a special class of poets. The\nsongs of these other ashoughs often reveal deep feelings and many of\nthem are high-class poems.\n\nAs a typical ashough author, I will only mention Sayat Nova. His lyre\nattained extreme sweetness; he combines all the vivid colouring of the\nEast with soft and refined shading. He was born in 1712. He was a\nspecial favourite at the court of the Georgian king. In his own words,\nhe \u201csat in the palace among the beauties and sang to them,\u201d but his\nsongs seem not merely to be poems in praise of court beauties, or for\ntheir amusement; they seem an expression of the deep feelings of his\nheart. A word-picture of his lady-love will be found on page 74 of this\nvolume (\u201cThy Voice is Sweet\u201d).\n\nHis love is so intense that one sees at once that he is capable of deep\nfeelings and one is drawn to him; yet this love is pure and unselfish.\nHe describes his love as a sea and himself as a little barque floating\non it. For ten years he has wooed the lady as a prince, but without\nsuccess; he will not relinquish the pursuit of her, but resolves now\nfor seven years to pay court to her in the character of a\npilgrim-minstrel.\n\nHe is even content only to sleep on her doorstep. There is something\nelse that is a part of his life, namely, his kamancha. He threatens to\ncut the strings of his instrument if he is a week without seeing his\nbeloved.\n\nOnce he comes face to face with his lady-love and says:\u2014\n\n\u201cWhat avails me now a physician? The ointment burns, and does not\nheal the wound, but your medicine is a different one.\u201d\n\nBut she replies that she has no remedy for him. In another poem he is\nin despair, and says:\u2014\n\n\u201cWithout thee, of what use is the world\u2019s wealth? I will don the\nhabit of a monk and visit the monasteries one by one. Perhaps in one of\nthem I shall discover a way of redemption from my hopeless love.\u201d\n(See \u201cWithout Thee what are Song and Dance to Me?\u201d on page 85 of\nthis volume.)\n\nIn another poem he expresses the wavering between earthly and heavenly\nlife, saying:\u2014\n\n\u201cIf one obeys the will of the soul, then the body is offended. How\nshall I escape this sorrow?\u201d\n\nAt last he carries out his declaration and becomes a monk. He secludes\nhimself from the world in a lonely monastery, far away from Tiflis; but\nonce he hears that a minstrel has come to that city whom none can\nequal, whereupon he steals out of the monastery, disguised as a layman,\nand taking his saz with him, goes to Tiflis, enters into contest with\nthe new minstrel, and conquering him, saves the honour of his native\ntown.\n\nIn 1795 Agha Mohammed Khan laid waste Tiflis and many other towns of\nthat region. His soldiers entered the monastery where Sayat Nova was\npraying and commanded him to come out and become a Mohammedan if he\nwished to save his life; but he replied, in verse, that he was an\nArmenian and would not deny his Christ. He was therefore martyred on\nthe spot. Other poems of his appear on pages 35 (\u201cI have a Word I\nfain would say\u201d), 14 (\u201cI beheld my Love this Morning\u201d), 110\n(\u201cThou art so Sweet\u201d).\n\nWe have given specimens of mediaeval Armenian poetry; we now proceed to\nindicate in outline its most striking characteristics.\n\nThe theme of the Armenian pagan minstrels was the heroic deeds of their\ncountry\u2019s history. The adoption of Christianity imparted to Armenian\npoetry a specific form and tone. At the same time it was the revival of\nthe old Armenian valour, which, strengthened by the circumstances in\nwhich the Armenians lived, produced a religious poetry of great purity\nof feeling, and of a depth and solemnity unequalled by any other poetry\nof this class.\n\nIn the Middle Ages, the poetry gave expression to the love and other\nemotions of the Armenian poets.\n\nA new poetry of the now Mohammedan Persia written in modern Persian\ncame into being almost simultaneously with the Armenian poetry of the\nMiddle Ages.\n\nFirdusi, Omar Khayyam, Sadi, Hafiz, with a splendid retinue of less\nfamed singers, made Persian the language of verse which, together with\nArabic poetry in its earlier stages, no doubt had some influence on the\nArmenian poets of the Middle Ages; but this influence affected form\nrather than spirit or character.\n\nArmenian mediaeval poetry does not possess the burning hues of oriental\nverse, and is perhaps less luxurious, but the grace, charm, ease, and\nfancy of the Armenian lays are inimitable, and their originality and\noccasional quaintness are so marked that one feels there is a magic in\nthem. These characteristics are the outcome of the mutual assimilation\nof eastern and western art, so that the poetry of Armenia, like its\nlanguage, its art, its Church, stands by itself.\n\nIn comparing Armenian with Persian and Arabic poetry, one must remember\nthat the Armenians, as Christians, were not polygamists; and that, to\nthem, marriage was sanctified by the law of God and man. This is what\nthe great Persian poet Sadi says of women: \u201cChoose a fresh wife every\nspring, or every New Year\u2019s day, for the almanac of last year is good\nfor nothing.\u201d It would have been impossible for any Armenian poet to\nentertain such an idea as that.\n\nWhereas women are so cheap in the eyes of the Persian poet, Armenian\ngirls endowed with beauty were considered by their parents and the\ncommunity very precious possessions, to be zealously guarded, as they\nwere in constant danger of attracting the attention of their Mohammedan\nlords and being forcibly carried off into harems. This fact had the\neffect of mingling compassion with the Armenian poets\u2019 admiration of\na girl\u2019s beauty and made them write more feelingly of women.\n\nIt must also be remembered that, whereas Mohammedanism looks upon woman\nas a soulless being, in the eyes of a Christian she possesses a soul as\nprecious as that of a man.\n\nIt is an interesting fact that love poems were written by the clergy,\noften by ecclesiastics of high position, who, by the law of the\nArmenian Church, are vowed to celibacy. One explanation of this is that\nthey were born poets, and only regarded love as one among many feelings\nfitted to be the subject of verse. Their use of the first person is\nonly dramatic.\n\nThere are also many folksongs which differ, in style and character,\nfrom the love-songs of poets. The spirit of these songs is that of\nArmenian pagan poems. The following is an example of songs of this\nclass. It describes the adventure of a girl.\n\n\n            \u201cI beheld a youth to-day\n            As at dawn I walked unheeding,\n            And the youth stopped on his way,\n            Struck my cheek, and left it bleeding.\n            Then my mother questioned me,\n            \u2018Who was it that struck you?\u2019 saying,\n            \u2018\u2019Twas a thorn, as near the tree\n            With the roses I was playing.\u2019\n            \u2018May the tree turn dry and sear\n            Which thy pretty cheek left bleeding!\u2019\n            \u2018Mother, dear, oh, do not speak,\n            \u2019Twas a youth that stopped to kiss it.\n            \u2019Twas for luck he kissed my cheek,\n            If thou curse him he will miss it!\u2019\u201d\n\n\nArmenian religious and devotional poetry has characteristics of its\nown. This class of literature falls into two divisions. In the first\ndivision are works of a purely literary character written in old\nArmenian; in the second, works meant for popular use, written in the\nlanguage of the people. These latter are written in a more familiar\nstyle, proverbs and paraphrases being often introduced, in a\npicturesque fashion, which appeals to the unlearned.\n\nAs an example of the popular class of literature we give an extract\nfrom a poem about Gregory the Illuminator, who was cast by King\nTiridates into a well infested with serpents and other loathsome\ncreatures:\u2014\n\n\n\u201c\u2018Take the saint and put him into the prison where\n                                            dragon-serpents are assembled.\u2019\nThey took the saint and put him in the prison where the\n                                            dragon-serpents were assembled.\nAnd the poisonous serpents inclined their tongues in worship.\nAnd said: \u2018Pity us, O Saint Gregory, and hearken to the complaint\n                                                    of us, dragon-serpents.\nIt is many thousands of years since we drank water from the springs;\nWe have not drunk water from the springs, but only the blood of condemned men.\nWe have eaten no green herbs, but only the flesh of the condemned.\u2019\u201d\n\n\nThe poet goes on to tell how St. Gregory when he came out of the well\nset free the dragon-serpents in answer to their prayer.\n\nThis poem is very old, being written in the fifth or sixth century at\nthe latest. The metre is that of the pagan poets.\n\nWe cite here another poem of this class\u2014an allegorical description of\nChrist on the Cross:\u2014\n\n\n        \u201cA little Bird I saw\u2014a peerless One\u2014\n        Upon the four-armed Sign, that peer hath none.\n        O Peerless One, who is like Thee, Thou Peerless One?\n              Thou alone.\n\n        \u201cIts silvery wings were of a matchless white\n        More brilliant than the sun\u2019s clear, matchless light.\n        O Matchless One, who is like Thee, Thou Matchless One?\n              Thou alone.\n\n        \u201cPiteous Its voice\u2014a great, transcendent sigh;\n        Mighty, as Gabriel\u2019s transcendent cry.\n        Transcendent One, who is like Thee, Transcendent One?\n              Thou alone.\n\n        \u201cWithin Its eyes, gem-like, unrivalled tears;\n        Surpassing those the morn unrivalled wears;\n        Unrivalled One, who is like Thee, Unrivalled One?\n              Thou alone.\u201d\n\n\nA characteristic species of Armenian poetry is the lullaby. There are\nhundreds of old Armenian cradle-songs which are still sung by mothers\nto their infants, and they are exquisitely dainty and sweet.\n\nHere are some stanzas from one of these songs:\u2014\n\n\n            \u201cThou art lovely, feet and all,\n            Whom wouldst have to be thy playmate?\n            Hush, the silver moon I\u2019ll call\u2014\n            The bright star to be thy playmate.\n\n            \u201cCrimson rose and petals wide,\n            Thou hast bloomed, our garden\u2019s pride.\n            As many suns shine on thy years\n            As the leaves our garden bears.\n\n            \u201cOror, hush, the deer are here,\n            The deer have come from the hills so high,\n            Have brought sweet sleep to my baby dear,\n            And filled it in his deep, deep eye.\u201d\n\n\nThere are series of Armenian folksongs for every event in life\u2014birth,\nmarriage, death, and so on.\n\nThe following is a folksong of death, being the lament of a mother over\nher dead son:\u2014\n\n\n            \u201cAs to-night I walked alone\n            To the earth my ear inclining,\n            From the ground I heard a moan,\u2014\n            My son\u2019s voice I heard repining.\n            \u2018Do not leave me in the ground,\n            With the serpents round me crawling.\n            \u201cFood in plenty we have found,\u201d\n            To their young ones they are calling,\n            \u201cFrom his ribs we\u2019ll gnaw the flesh,\n            From his eyes drink water fresh.\u201d\u2019\n            All the night I found no rest,\n            I cried out, \u2018Give me a knife,\n            I will plunge it in my breast,\n            I will have no more of life!\u2019\u201d\n\n\nYet another feature of the literature of this period is the\ncontemporary history in verse. We come across metrical narratives of\ngreat events written by those who experienced them. There is a long and\nvivid description in verse, by an eye-witness, of the siege of\nConstantinople. The poet is Abraham Vardapet.\n\nThere are also agricultural and craft songs, which are sung by workmen\nover their labour.\n\nThese songs are adapted to the movements necessitated by each\noccupation.\n\nAnother marked difference between Armenian and Mohammedan literature is\nthat Armenians are entirely free from the fatalism which is a\ndistinctive feature of the Mohammedan view of life.\n\nSadi relates, in his Gulistan, the story of a fisherman that gives the\nMohammedan conception of Fate. This fisherman had caught a fish which\nhis strength did not allow him to drag to shore. Fearing to be drawn\ninto the river himself, he abandoned his line, and the fish swam away\nwith the bait in his mouth. His companions mocked him, and he replied:\n\u201cWhat could I do? This animal escaped because his last hour, fixed by\nfate, was not yet come. Fate governs all, and the fisherman cannot\novercome it more than another, nor can he catch fish, if fate is\nagainst him, even in the Tigris. The fish itself, even though dry,\nwould not die, if it were the will of fate to preserve its life.\u201d The\npoet adds: \u201cO man! why shouldst thou fear? If thy hour is not come,\nin vain would thy enemy rush against thee with his lance in rest: his\narms and his feet would be tied by fate, and the arrow would be turned\naway, though in the hands of the most expert archer.\u201d\n\nThe spirit of Armenian poetry is neither despondent nor fatalistic. Its\nsongs are of dawn, of spring, of sunrise, of struggle; not of sunset.\nAnd perhaps this clinging to hope and this desire to live is the only\nsecret of the survival of the Armenian nation. Armenian poetry is the\nproduct of dwellers in a hill country. To them mountains, deep valleys,\nclear skies, running brooks are familiar every-day companions.\n\nThis brings us down to the Renaissance of Armenian literature which\ntook place almost simultaneously in Russia and Turkey, but the field of\nmodern Armenian literature is such a wide one that we cannot attempt an\nanalysis of it here. There are, however, some examples of modern\nArmenian poetry in this volume.\n\nThe occupation of the Armenian provinces by Russia in 1828, with the\nattendant emigration of thousands from Persia and Turkey into Russian\nArmenia, strengthened the nation. National schools were soon opened,\nsupported by the Armenians themselves. An Armenian Academy was\nestablished in Moscow in 1815 and a Seminary in Tiflis in 1826. Many\nArmenians went to Moscow and Petrograd, and also to foreign\nuniversities, especially to those of Germany, Switzerland, and France.\nThe educational revival produced a new era, and a new Armenian\nliterature came into being. Many Armenian newspapers and reviews were\nfounded and published in different places. Tiflis was the centre of the\nliterature and learning of Russian Armenia. A similar revival of\nletters occurred in Turkish Armenia. In 1860 a national and\necclesiastical constitution was granted to the Armenians in Turkey. For\nTurkish Armenians the literary centres were Constantinople and Smyrna.\nIn the latter city, good work was done in translating western classics,\nbut Constantinople was the chief seat of Armenian culture in Turkey.\nThus Armenian literature became divided into two branches\u2014Russian\nArmenian and Turkish Armenian\u2014each of which has its own peculiarities\nof language, style, and tone. It was poetry that first burst into bloom\nand reached maturity soonest. At first the motifs of the poems were\nmainly national. The imagination of the poets was kindled by the past,\npresent, and future of Armenia, its sufferings, its national beauty,\nits shortcomings. They looked forward to a national regeneration. They\nwere apostles of light, science, learning; and pointed out new paths of\nnational salvation. The result of all this was the production of some\nbeautiful national songs. These songs are not triumphant anthems like\nthose of other countries; they are songs of suffering, but with a note\nof hope. Then Armenian poetry developed a truer relation with what had\nbeen created in literature and art, and the poets looked at things in a\nnew way, and assumed new poetical forms. It combined poetry and\nimagination with passionate feeling for life and truth. Some of the\npoems of this period are of exquisite workmanship, breathing the very\nspirit of the time.\n\nAs we have said, Armenian poetry of the nineteenth century is so full\nof merit and of such intense interest that it would be impossible to do\nit justice without writing at great length. We have already exhausted\nthe space at our disposal, and hope to devote a separate work to it.\n\nPersian and Arabic poetry are things of the past, but Armenian poetry,\nlike the Armenian nation, has an unquenchable vitality, ever advancing\ntowards new horizons, and soaring to loftier heights.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHRONOLOGICAL INDEX TO AUTHORS\n\n\n    Moses of Khorene, fifth century\u2014  PAGE\n      Vahagn, King of Armenia, 10\n      Ara and Semiramis, 23\n      The Founding of Van, 33\n      Artashes and Satenik, 48\n      Artavasd, 65\n      Christ and Abgarus, 75\n\n    Folk Songs\u2014\n      The Exile\u2019s Song, 1\n      The Apple Tree, 3\n      The Fox, the Wolf, and the Bear, 15\n      The Song of the Stork, 27\n      The Song of the Partridge, 36\n      The Hawk and the Dove, 63\n      Charm Verses, 67\n      O\u2019er the Mountains High He went, 81\n      The Fox, 90\n      Dance Song (Haberban), 101\n\n    Author Unknown, mediaeval\u2014\n      Yesternight I walked Abroad, 7\n\n    Saint Gregory of Narek, 951\u20131009\u2014\n      The Christ-Child, 113\n\n    Saint Nerses Shnorhali, 1102\u20131173\u2014\n      The Arrival of the Crusaders, 58\n\n    Hovhannes Erzingatzi, b. 1260\u2014\n      Like an Ocean is this World 59\n\n    \u201cFrik,\u201d d. 1330\u2014\n      Reproaches, xv\n\n    John Gower, d. 1408\u2014\n      The Tale of Rosiphelee, 91\n\n    Hovhannes Tulkourantzi, 1450\u20131525\u2014\n      Concerning Death, 119\n\n    Grigoris of Aghtamar, fifteenth century\u2014\n      Concerning the Rose and the Nightingale, 52\n\n    Nahabed Kouchak, fifteenth century\u2014\n      My Heart is turned into a Wailing Child, 4\n      O Night, be long, 5\n      Birthday Song, 31\n\n    Sayat Nova, 1713\u20131795\u2014\n      I beheld my Love this Morning, 14\n      I have a Word I fain would say, 35\n      \u201cThy Voice is Sweet\u201d, 74\n      Without Thee what are Song and Dance to Me?, 85\n      Thou art so Sweet, 110\n\n    Leo Alishan, 1820\u20131901\u2014\n      The Lily of Shavarshan, 37\n      The Nightingale of Avarair, 108\n\n    Mikael Nalbandian, 1829\u20131866\u2014\n      Liberty, 12\n\n    Muggurdich Beshigtashlian, 1829\u20131868\u2014\n      Spring, 89\n\n    Raphael Patkanian, 1830\u20131892\u2014\n      Cradle Song, 21\n      Cradle Song, 41\n      The Tears of Araxes, 69\n\n    Raffi, 1837\u20131888\u2014\n      The Parrot\u2019s Song, 78\n      The Lake of Van, 86\n      Ballad, 103\n      The Castle of Anoush, 114\n\n    Karekin Srvanstian, 1840\u20131892\u2014\n      Lament over the Heroes fallen in the Battle of Avarair, 25\n\n    Smpad Shahaziz, 1840\u20131897\u2014\n      The Dream, 46\n\n    Thomas Terzyan, 1842\u20131909\u2014\n      The Chragan Palace, 44\n\n    Elia Demirjibashian, 1851\u20131908\u2014\n      The Song of the Vulture 98\n\n    Bedros Tourian, 1852\u20131872\u2014\n      The Little Lake, 18\n      My Death, 50\n      Complaints, 82\n      A Day after, 84\n      Love One Another, 121\n\n    William Watson, b. 1858\u2014\n      A Trial of Orthodoxy, xvi\n\n    Hovhannes Hovhannessian, b. 1869\u2014\n      Spring, 20\n      The Rock, 60\n      Araxes came devouringly, 77\n\n    Hovhannes Toumanian, b. 1869\u2014\n      The Crane, 62\n      Earth and Sky, 79\n\n    Alexander Dzadourian, b. 1870\u2014\n      The Armenian Poet\u2019s Prayer, 43\n\n    Arschag Tchobanian, b. 1872\u2014\n      Happiness, 118\n\n    Avetis Isahakian, b. 1875\u2014\n      Black Eyes, 6\n      Huntsman, that on the Hills above, 11\n      Ye Mountain Bluebells, 29\n      The Sun went down, 30\n      The Wind is howling through the Winter Night, 42\n\n    Shushanik Gourghinian, b. 1876\u2014\n      The Eagle\u2019s Love, 51\n\n    Zabelle Essayan, b. 1878\u2014\n      Incense, 17\n\n    C. A. Dodochian\u2014\n      The Wandering Armenian to the Swallow, 111\n\n    Hovhannes Costaniantz\u2014\n      No Bird can reach the Mountain\u2019s Crest, 106\n\n    Derenik Demirjian\u2014\n      The Eve of Ascension Day, 73\n\n    Haroutune Toumanian\u2014\n      Morning, 32\n\n    Vittoria Aganoor Pompilj, d. 1910\u2014\n      Pasqua Armena, 122\n      \u201cIo Vidi\u201d, 123\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nINDEX TO FIRST LINES\n\n\n                                          AUTHOR.                     TRANSLATED BY         PAGE\n\nAbove the waters, like a hoary giant      Hovhannes Hovhannessian     Z. C. Boyajian          60\nAccostarsi all\u2019oscuro                     Vittoria Aganoor Pompilj                           123\nA great black bird like to a great black\n    cloud                                 Elia Demirjibashian         Z. C. Boyajian          98\nAn eagle sat upon the fell                Shushanik Gourghinian       Z. C. Boyajian          51\nAraxes came devouringly                   Hovhannes Hovhannessian     Z. C. Boyajian          77\nArmenian maidens, come and view           Leo Alishan                 Alice Stone Blackwell   37\nBelov\u00e8d one, for thy sweet sake           Folk Song                   Z. C. Boyajian           1\nDark forests clothe the mountain-side     Raffi                       Z. C. Boyajian         103\nDay dawned. Bright tongues of scarlet\n    flame                                 Haroutune Toumanian         Z. C. Boyajian          32\nDo not trust black eyes, but fear them    Avetis Isahakian            Z. C. Boyajian           6\nFarewell, thou Sun, and Thou, O Power\n    Divine                                Bedros Tourian              Z. C. Boyajian          82\nHave you ever seen that wondrous\n    building                              T. Terzyan                  Alice Stone Blackwell   44\nHuntsman, that on the hills above         Avetis Isahakian            Z. C. Boyajian          11\nI beheld my love this morning             Sayat Nova                  Z. C. Boyajian          14\nIf Goghtan\u2019s bards no longer crown        Karekin Srvanstian          Z. C. Boyajian          25\nI have a word I fain would say            Sayat Nova                  Z. C. Boyajian          35\nI have loved your winsome face            Folk Song                   Z. C. Boyajian         101\nIn many a distant, unknown land                                                               47\nI walk by Mother Arax                     Raphael Patkanian           Alice Stone Blackwell   69\nLike an ocean is this world               Hovhannes Erzingatzi        Z. C. Boyajian          59\nMy heart is turned into a wailing child   Nahabed Kouchak             Z. C. Boyajian           4\nNightingale, oh, leave our garden         Raphael Patkanian           Alice Stone Blackwell   41\nNight with her ebon hair and starry       Derenik Demirjian           Z. C. Boyajian          73\n    crown\nNo bird can reach the mountain\u2019s crest    H. Costaniantz              Z. C. Boyajian         106\nNone await thy smiling rays               Hovhannes Hovhannessian     Z. C. Boyajian          20\nNon fu di fiele abbeverato? Il petto      Vittoria Aganoor Pompilj                           122\nO\u2019er the mountains high he went           Folk Song                   Z. C. Boyajian          81\nO evil man, with passions fraught         Hovhannes Tulkourantzi      Z. C. Boyajian         119\nOf Armenye, I rede thus                   John Gower                                          91\nO God of righteousness and truth          \u201cFrik\u201d                                              xv\nO God, \u2019tis not for laurel wreaths I\n    pray                                  Alexander Dzadourian        Z. C. Boyajian          43\nO little breeze, how fresh and sweet      Muggurdich Beshigtashlian   Z. C. Boyajian          89\nOnce more God hither moves their course   Saint Nerses Shnorhali      Z. C. Boyajian          58\nO Night, be long\u2014long as an endless year  Nahabed Kouchak             Z. C. Boyajian           5\nOn the morning of thy birth               Nahabed Kouchak             Z. C. Boyajian          31\nO swallow, gentle swallow                 C. A. Dodochian             Alice Stone Blackwell  111\nSlumbering darkly yesterday               Bedros Tourian              Z. C. Boyajian          84\nSoft and low a voice breathed o\u2019er me     S. Shahaziz                 Z. C. Boyajian          46\nStork, I welcome thy return               Folk Song                   Z. C. Boyajian          27\nSweet slumber now creeps o\u2019er thee slow   Raphael Patkanian               Z. C. Boyajian      21\nThe clinging children at their mother\u2019s\n    knee                                  William Watson                                     xvi\nThe Crane has lost his way across the\n    heaven                                Hovhannes Toumanian         Z. C. Boyajian          62\nThe door of Heaven open seemed            Folk Song                   Z. C. Boyajian           3\nThe fox ran up into the mill              Folk Song                   Z. C. Boyajian          90\nThe Hawk said to the Dove, \u201cMy dear\u201d      Folk Song                   Z. C. Boyajian          63\nThe incense at the altar slowly burns     Zabelle Essayan             Z. C. Boyajian          17\nThe lips of the Christ-child are like to\n    twin leaves                           Saint Gregory of Narek      Alice Stone Blackwell  113\nThe little fox, the wolf and bear made\n    peace                                 Folk Song                   Z. C. Boyajian          15\nThe Rose was gone. When to the empty\n    tent                                  Grigoris of Aghtamar        Z. C. Boyajian          52\nThe Sky bent down his piercing gaze one\n    day                                   Hovhannes Toumanian         Z. C. Boyajian          79\nThe sun has touched the mountain\u2019s crest  Folk Song                   Z. C. Boyajian          36\nThe sun went down behind the hill         Avetis Isahakian            Z. C. Boyajian          30\nThe wind is howling through the winter\n    night                                 Avetis Isahakian            Z. C. Boyajian          42\nThou art so sweet thou wilt not pain      Sayat Nova                  Z. C. Boyajian         110\nThy voice is soft, thy speech all\n    sweetness flows                       Sayat Nova                  Z. C. Boyajian          74\nUndying Love, Whose beams forever glow    Bedros Tourian              Z. C. Boyajian         121\nUnutterable silence here is spread        Raffi                       George M. Green         86\nWeary of vainly seeking Happiness         Arschag Tchobanian          Z. C. Boyajian         118\nWhence comest thou, my moon, gentle and\n    still                                 Leo Alishan                 Z. C. Boyajian         108\nWhen Death\u2019s pale angel comes to me       Bedros Tourian              Z. C. Boyajian          50\nWhen the God of Liberty                   Mikael Nalbandian           Z. C. Boyajian          12\nWhy dost thou lie in hushed surprise      Bedros Tourian              Alice Stone Blackwell   18\nWith nuts and sweets and dainty fare      Raffi                       Z. C. Boyajian          78\nWithout thee what are song and dance to\n    me?                                   Sayat Nova                  Z. C. Boyajian          85\nYe mountain bluebells, weep with me       Avetis Isahakian            Z. C. Boyajian          29\nYesternight I walked abroad               Author Unknown              Z. C. Boyajian           7\nCharm Verses                              Folk Songs                  Z. C. Boyajian          67\n\n\nPROSE LEGENDS\n\nAra and Semiramis                         Moses of Khorene            Z. C. Boyajian          23\nArtashes and Satenik                      Moses of Khorene            Z. C. Boyajian          48\nArtavasd                                  Moses of Khorene            Z. C. Boyajian          65\nChrist and Abgarus                        Moses of Khorene            Z. C. Boyajian          75\nThe Castle of Anoush                      Raffi                       Z. C. Boyajian         114\nThe Founding of Van                       Moses of Khorene            Z. C. Boyajian          33\nVahagn, King of Armenia                   Moses of Khorene            Z. C. Boyajian          10\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nNOTES\n\n[1] The \u201cfeast of Father Abraham\u201d means plenty.\n\n[2] An apple is the symbol of love.\n\n[3] Armenian babies are tied tightly into their cradles when they are\nput to sleep.\n\n[4] This and the other translations by Miss Alice Stone Blackwell are\nreprinted from Armenian Poems, by the translator\u2019s kind permission.\n\n[5] Oror\u2014lullaby.\n\n[6] Armenian babies have their eyes bandaged when they are put to\nsleep, and they are tied into their cradles.\n\n[7] Santoukhd was martyred by the order of her father, King Sanadroug,\nfor becoming a Christian.\n\n[8] The late Hagop Bey Balian.\n\n[9] A great number of these little poems exist. They are traditional,\nand are used for fortune-telling. On the Eve of Ascension Day all those\nwho wish to have their fortunes told place some little trinket into a\nbowl containing seven different kinds of flowers and water from seven\nsprings. The bowl is left open to the stars until dawn, when the party\nassemble and select a child who cannot tell where the sun rises to take\nthe trinkets out as the verses are repeated. The owner of the token\ntakes the verse preceding its being brought out as his or her fortune.\n\n[10] The Eve of Ascension Day is the time when betrothals are arranged\nand destinies decided.\n\n[11] The patron saint of lovers.\n\n[12] The poem entitled \u201cComplaints,\u201d written a few days before his\ndeath.\n\n[13] \u201cNer\u201d\u2014the Antichrist, concerning whom the Armenians have\nmany traditions.\n\n[14] Haberban.\n\n[15] The Paradise of Mohammed, where the souls of the blest are waited\nupon by beautiful houris, and fed with delicious fruits.\n\n[16] Above the summit of Aragatz, the mountain that faces Ararat on the\nfar side of the plain, a weird light is sometimes visible,\ntraditionally called the Lamp of Saint Gregory the Illuminator.\n\n[17] Anoush - sweet.\n\n[18] This and the following poem are reprinted from Nuove Liriche, by\nVittoria Aganoor Pompilj, Roma. Nuova Antologia.\n\n[19] Navasard fell, according to the later calendar of pagan Armenia,\nin August.\n\n[20] See Agathangelos (fourth century A.D.).\n\n[21] Annual bonfires are kindled by Armenians on the festival of\nCandlemas, or the Purification of the Blessed Virgin Mary (February\n13/2).\n\n[22] Agathangelos.\n\n[23] Statues of massive gold were consecrated to her, one of which was\ncaptured by the soldiers of Antony (Pliny, H. N., xxx. 24).\n\n[24] At each festival, the Armenians had to show what progress they had\nmade during the past year, in art and in other occupations, and races\nand other competitions took place, the victors being crowned with\nwreaths of roses. When the doves were set flying the High Priest\nsprinkled the people with the waters of the Aradzani\u2014a tributary of\nthe Euphrates\u2014and the people in their turn sprinkled each other. The\ncustoms dated back to traditions of the deluge\u2014that universal baptism\nwith which God cleansed all the sinful earth, and the same expression\nof love and forgiveness is manifested in the presence of the dove at\nthe baptism of Jordan. See Raffi\u2019s Samuel, chap. ix.\n\n[25] Astghik means in Armenian \u201clittle star.\u201d\n\n[26] It is a curious coincidence that Venus, the Greek goddess of\nbeauty, was also the wife of a fire-god, Vulcan.\n\n[27] Some say that Ammanor was an ancient Armenian god and not foreign.\n\n[28] Kadjk means in Armenian \u201cbrave ones.\u201d\n\n[29] Zarma\u00efr, another king of this dynasty, took part in the defence\nof Troy. The historian emphasises the fact that he was killed by\nAchilles himself.\n\n[30] It is interesting to recall, in this connection, some passages of\nStrabo. Speaking of Armenia he says:\u2014\u201cIt is said that people\npassing by the foot of the mountains are often buried in the snow which\nfalls from the summits. In order to be prepared for such a mishap,\ntravellers carry with them two long sticks for the purpose of making\nbreathing places for themselves, should they be covered by the snow.\nThe sticks, at the same time, serve as signals to any other travellers\nwho may happen to be passing.\u201d\n\n[31] Cf. the original text of the Armenian poem which is as follows:\u2014\n\n    \u0535\u0580\u0563\u0576\u0565\u0580 \u0565\u0580\u0563\u056b\u0576 \u0587 \u0565\u0580\u0563\u056b\u0580               Erkner erkin ev erkir\n    \u0535\u0580\u0563\u0576\u0565\u0580 \u0587 \u056e\u056b\u0580\u0561\u0576\u056b \u056e\u0578\u057e                Erkner ev dzirani dzov\n    \u0535\u0580\u0563\u0576 \u056b \u056e\u0578\u057e\u0578\u0582\u0576 \u0578\u0582\u0576\u0565\u0580                Erkn i dzovun uner\n    \u0536\u0563\u0561\u0580\u0574\u0580\u056b\u0563 \u0565\u0572\u0565\u056f\u0576\u056b\u0563\u0576.                 Zkarmrik eghegnikn.\n    \u0538\u0576\u0563 \u0565\u0572\u0565\u0563\u0561\u0576 \u0583\u0578\u0572, \u056e\u0578\u0582\u056d \u0565\u056c\u0561\u0576\u0565\u0580        \u016cnd eghegan pogh, dzukh elaner\n    \u0538\u0576\u0563 \u0565\u0572\u0565\u0563\u0561\u0576 \u0583\u0578\u0572, \u0584\u0578\u0581 \u0565\u056c\u0561\u0576\u0565\u0580         \u016cnd eghegan pogh, botz elaner,\n    \u0535\u057e \u056b \u0584\u0578\u0581\u057f\u056b\u0576 \u057a\u0561\u057f\u0561\u0576\u0565\u056f\u056b\u056f \u057e\u0561\u0566\u0565\u0580,       Ev i botzuin patanekik vazer,\n    \u0546\u0561 \u0570\u0578\u0582\u0580 \u0570\u0565\u0580 \u0578\u0582\u0565\u0580,                  Na hur her uner,\n    \u0531\u057a\u0561 \u0569\u0565 \u0562\u0578\u0581 \u0578\u0582\u0576\u0565\u0580 \u0574\u0585\u0580\u0578\u0582\u057d            Apa te botz uner morus\n    \u0535\u057e \u0561\u0579\u056f\u0578\u0582\u0576\u0584\u0576 \u0565\u056b\u0576 \u0561\u0580\u0565\u0563\u0561\u056f\u0578\u0582\u0576\u0584.        Ev achkunkn ein aregakunk.\n\n[32] The following lines from a Chaldean description of Ut-napisti, the\nChaldean Noah\u2019s sacrifice after the Flood, furnish an example from\nAssyrian poetry:\u2014\n\n    \u201cThe gods smelled a savour,\n    The gods smelled a sweet savour,\n    The gods gathered like flies over the sacrifice.\u201d\n\n[33] Dziran in Armenian means \u201capricot,\u201d therefore dzirani = \u201cof\napricot colour.\u201d\n\n[34] Strabo says about Artaxata that it was built upon a design which\nHannibal gave to King Artaxes (Artashes), who made it the capital of\nArmenia, and Tournefort, the famous French botanist, who travelled in\nArmenia in the seventeenth century, exclaims, in reference to this\nfact: \u201cWho could have imagined that Hannibal would come from Africa\nto Armenia to be engineer to an Armenian king? But so it is.\u201d\n\n[35] April, when the New Year commenced.\n\n[36] The son of Tigranes the Great.\n\n[37] \u201cArmenios, one of the Argonauts, who was believed to have been a\nnative of Rhodes or of Armenion in Thessaly, and to have settled in the\ncountry which was called after him, Armenia\u201d (Strabo, xi. 530, etc.;\nJustin, xlii. 2; Steph. Byz. S. V. \u0391\u03c1\u03bc\u03b5\u03bd\u03b9\u03b1).\n\n[38] Translations of Moses of Khorene: Latin (with Armenian text),\nWhiston (G. & G.), London, 1736; Italian, Cappelletti (G.), Venice,\n1841; Tommaseo (H.), Venice, 1849\u201350; German, Lauer (M.), Regensburg,\n1869; French (with Armenian text), Le Vaillant de Florivel (P. E.),\nParis, 1841 (2 vols.), and in Langlois\u2019 Collection, vol. ii.;\nRussian, M. Emin, Moscow.\n\n[39] See Travel and Politics in Armenia, by Noel Buxton, M.P., and Rev.\nHarold Buxton; with Introduction by Viscount Bryce and a Contribution\non Armenian History and Culture by Aram Raffi. Smith, Elder & Co. 1914.\n\n[40] The history of this war is recorded by Eghish\u00e9, a contemporary\necclesiastic, whose work is more widely read than any book except the\nBible. He is a poet rather than an historian.\n\n[41] All the metrical translations quoted are by Miss Z. C. Boyajian.\nLike her other translations in this volume they are almost literal\nrenderings; and the original metre has been kept.\n\n[42] These monarchs are mentioned because they were the first Christian\nsovereigns.\n\n[43] In the Armenian Church there are two classes of clergy\u2014the\nhigher order to which bishops belong and who do not marry, and the\nlower order of parish priests who do marry.\n\n[44] It is interesting to compare this with a Persian poem by Essedi of\nTus called a dispute between Day and Night. In the former the Earth is\nvictorious, in the latter the Day. The Persian is essentially\nMohammedan in spirit and conventional, whereas the Armenian is almost\nmodern.\n\n        Day. By day the pious fast and pray;\n            And solemn feasts are held by day.\n\n        Night. Day can but paint the skies with blue,\n            Night\u2019s starry hosts amaze the view.\n\n        Day. ... I am a Moslem\u2014white my vest,\n            Thou a vile thief, in sable drest.\n            Out, negro-face!\u2014dar\u2019st thou compare\n            Thy cheeks with mine, so purely fair?\n\n            ... The Sun is ruddy, strong, and hale:\n            The moon is sickly, wan, and pale.\n            Methinks \u2019twas ne\u2019er in story told\n            That silver had the worth of gold!\n            The moon, a slave, is bowed and bent,\n            She knows her light is only lent,\n            She hurries on, the way to clear,\n            Till the Great Shah himself appear.\n\n                            From \u201cThe Rose Garden of Persia.\u201d","title":"Armenian Legends and Poems","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":53743}