Poems of Mugurdich Beshiktashlian
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1. DEATH OF A YOUTH OF ZEITOUN
WHOM dost thou seek, sweet mother?Come, tremble not, draw near!Gaze on thy son’s blood-streaming woundsWithout a sigh or tear.Let Turkish mothers rend their hair;Do thou glad news to Zeitoun bear !As, by my cradle, thou didst sootheWith tender hand and smileMy childish form to sleep, and singWith angel voice the while,Lay me to rest, without a care,And joyful news to Zeitoun bear !Red floods are welling from my wounds,But, mother, look around;See how the fierce blood-thirsty TurksBy thousands strew the ground !Our swords devoured them, scattered there :Then joyful news to Zeitoun bear!They smote us like a dragon,With sudden roaring deep;But Zeitoun shook her rocky head,And rolled them down the steep.Red was the stain our rocks did wear ;Then joyful news to Zeitoun bear !Our fathers’ ghosts applauded;Our old fire is not dead !Our slaughtered kin rejoiced to seeThe blood of vengeance shed.Mount Ararat the joy did share ;Mother, glad news to Zeitoun bear!Take my last kiss, my mother,And bear it to my love;A kiss, too, for my native soil,That now my tomb must prove.Plant thou a cross above me there,And joyful news to Zeitoun bear !2. SPRING
How cool and sweet, O breeze of morn,Thou stirrest in the air,Caressing soft the dewy flowers,The young girl’s clustering hair !But not my country’s breeze thou art.Blow past! thou canst not touch my heart.How sweetly and how soulfullyThou singest from the grove,O bird, while men admire thy voiceIn tender hours of love !But not my country’s bird thou art.Sing elsewhere! Deaf to thee my heart.With what a gentle murmur,O brook, thy current flows,Reflecting in its mirror clearThe maiden and the rose !But not my native stream thou art.Flow past! thou canst hot charm my heartThough over ruins lingerArmenia’s bird and breeze,And though Armenia’s turbid streamCreeps ’mid the cypress-trees,They voice thy sighs, and from my heart.My country, they shall not depart!3. A BRAVE SON OF ARMENIA
THERE leaned against a gravestoneUpon a mountain steep,A fair-haired youth of gallant mien,Who mused in sorrow deep.His eyes now sought the heavens,And now the earth below.Son of the hills and valleys,Why dost thou sorrow so ?Dost thou desire, to soothe thee,A vast and stormy sea,Whose ranks of wind-stirred billowsShall sing to comfort thee ?Or heaven’s immense and wondrous vault,Star-strewn, thine eyes to greet ?Or smiles from nature’s fairest things,The flowers, the zephyrs sweet ?Or dost thou yearn for solaceAll other joys above, —A gentle mother’s kisses,A sweetheart’s tender love?To cure thy heart’s deep sorrowWhat wouldst thou have, oh, what?“ My longing is for powder,For powder and for shot!”4. WE ARE BROTHERS
FROM glorious Nature’s myriad tonguesThough songs be breathed by lips of love,And though the maiden’s fingers fairAcross the thrilling harp-strings rove,Of all earth’s sounds, there is no otherSo lovely as the name of brother.Clasp hands, for we are brothers dear,Of old by tempest rent apart;The dark designs of cruel FateShall fail, when heart is joined to heart.What sound, beneath the stars aflame,So lovely as a brother’s name ?And when our ancient Mother-LandBeholds her children side by side,The dews of joyful tears shall healHer heart’s sad wounds, so deep and wide.What sound, beneath the stars aflame,So lovely as a brother’s name?We wept together in the past;Let us unite in harmonyAnd blend again our tears, our joys;So shall our efforts fruitful be.What sound, beneath the stars aflame,So lovely as a brother’s name ?Together let us work and strive,Together sow, with toil and pain,The seed that shall, with harvest blest,Make bright Armenia’s fields again.What sound, beneath the stars aflame,So lovely as a brother’s name ?