22
ARMENIAN POEMS.
NEW DARK DAYS.
THE centuries of bloodshed
Are past, those cruel years;
But there is still one country
Whose mountains drip with tears,
Whose river-banks are blood-stained,
Whose mourning loads the breeze,—
A land of dreary ruins,
Ashes, and cypress-trees.
Are past, those cruel years;
But there is still one country
Whose mountains drip with tears,
Whose river-banks are blood-stained,
Whose mourning loads the breeze,—
A land of dreary ruins,
Ashes, and cypress-trees.
No more for the Armenian
A twinkling star appears;
His spirit’s flowers have faded
Beneath a rain of tears.
Ceased are the sounds of harmless mirth,
The dances hand in hand;
Only the weapon of the Koord
Shines freely through the land.
A twinkling star appears;
His spirit’s flowers have faded
Beneath a rain of tears.
Ceased are the sounds of harmless mirth,
The dances hand in hand;
Only the weapon of the Koord
Shines freely through the land.
The bride’s soft eyes are tearful,
Behind her tresses’ flow,
Lest the Koord’s shout should interrupt
Love’s whisper, sweet and low.
Red blood succeeds love’s rosy flush;
Slain shall the bridegroom be,
And by the dastard Koords the bride
Be led to slavery.
Behind her tresses’ flow,
Lest the Koord’s shout should interrupt
Love’s whisper, sweet and low.
Red blood succeeds love’s rosy flush;
Slain shall the bridegroom be,
And by the dastard Koords the bride
Be led to slavery.
