WISHES FOR ARMENIA.
17
Not all of these, 'neath death's dark stone
Can ever hide from me
The glowing memories of the past,
Our days of liberty.
Forget you? Ne'er will I forget,
O glorious days of yore!
Rather may I be changed to fire
And bring you back once more!
Can ever hide from me
The glowing memories of the past,
Our days of liberty.
Forget you? Ne'er will I forget,
O glorious days of yore!
Rather may I be changed to fire
And bring you back once more!
When twinkle pale the stars at dawn,
When dewy buds unclose,
And tenderly the nightingale
Is singing to the rose,
All Nature’s harmonies, alas!
Can ne'er give back to me
The sighs that sound where cypress boughs
Are moaning like the sea.
Forget you, black and bitter days?
No, never! but instead
Rather may I be turned to blood,
And make your darkness red!
When dewy buds unclose,
And tenderly the nightingale
Is singing to the rose,
All Nature’s harmonies, alas!
Can ne'er give back to me
The sighs that sound where cypress boughs
Are moaning like the sea.
Forget you, black and bitter days?
No, never! but instead
Rather may I be turned to blood,
And make your darkness red!
Armenia's mountains dark may smile,
Siberia's ice may smoke,
But stern, unbending spirits still
Press on my neck the yoke.
Inflexible and cold are they;
When feeling surges high,
And I would speak, they stifle down
My free soul's bitter cry.
Siberia's ice may smoke,
But stern, unbending spirits still
Press on my neck the yoke.
Inflexible and cold are they;
When feeling surges high,
And I would speak, they stifle down
My free soul's bitter cry.
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