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 see The 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 soulfully Thou singest from the grove, O bird, while men admire thy voice