"I am old, I am very old: I have seen the primeval man, "What I say to you is the truth; "Him the Almighty made, And brought him forth of the light, "He was born at the break of day, "Gifted with Allah's grace, Like the moon of Ramazan When it shines in the skies, O Khan, "When first on earth he trod, The first words that he said Were these, as he stood and prayed, "And he shall be king of men, TO THE STORK. ARMENIAN POPULAR SONG, FROM THE PROSE VERSION OF ALISHAN. WELCOME, O Stork! that dost wing Thy flight from the far-away! Thou hast brought us the signs of Spring, Descend, O Stork! descend To thee, O Stork, I complain, When thou away didst go, Away from this tree of ours, Dark grew the brilliant sky, From Varaca's rocky wall, From the rock of Varaca unrolled, O Stork, our garden with snow THE BOY AND THE BROOK. ARMENIAN POPULAR SONG, FROM THE PROSE VERSION OF ALISHAN. 66 Down from yon distant mountain height The brooklet flows through the village street: A boy comes forth to wash his hands, Washing, yes washing, there he stands, In the water cool and sweet. Brook, from what mountain dost thou come ? 66 I come from yon mountain high and cold, And melts in the summer heat." THE SIEGE OF KAZAN. "Brook, to what river dost thou go? O my brooklet cool and sweet!" "Brook, to what garden dost thou go? "Brook, to what fountain dost thou go? THE SIEGE OF KAZAN. TARTAR SONG, FROM THE PROSE VERSION OF CHODZKO. BLACK are the moors before Kazan, And their stagnant waters smell of blood: Under the feet of Argamack, Like new moons were the shoes he bare, In a talisman on his neck, a prayer. My warriors, thought I, are following me; All had sunk in the black morass! Where are our shallow fords? and where We cannot hear them; for horse and man Ah! the black day hath come down on Kazan! Ah! was ever a grief like this? 535 Flower-de-Luce AND RECENT POEM S. BEAUTIFUL LILY. BEAUTIFUL lily, dwelling by still rivers, Or solitary mere, Or where the sluggish meadow-brook delivers Thou laughest at the mill, the whirr and worry And the great wheel that toils amid the hurry Born to the purple, born to joy and pleasance, But makest glad and radiant with thy presence The wind blows, and uplifts thy drooping banner, The rushes, the green yeomen of thy manor, The burnished dragon-fly is thine attendant, And down the listed sunbeam rides resplendent Thou art the Iris, fair among the fairest, Who, armed with golden rod And winged with the celestial azure, bearest Thou art the Muse, who far from crowded cities Playing on pipes of reed the artless ditties O flower-de-luce, bloom on, and let the river O flower of song, bloom on, and make for ever PALINGENESIS. I LAY upon the headland height, and listened In caverns under me, And watched the waves, that tossed and fled and glistened. Until the rolling meadows of amethyst Melted away in mist. Then suddenly, as one from sleep, I started; Of those whom I had known in days departed, A moment only, and the light and glory And the wild roses of the promontory There was an old belief that in the embers Could re-create the rose with all its members Ah me! what wonder-working, occult science What craft of alchemy can bid defiance "Oh, give me back," I cried, "the vanished splendours, When the swift stream of life Bounds over its rocky channel, and surrenders |