SPRINGBy MUGGURDICH BESHIGTASHLIAN(1829–1868)O little breeze, how fresh and sweetThou blowest in the morning air!Upon the flowers caressingly,And on the gentle maiden’s hair.But not my country’s breath thou art:Blow elsewhere, come not near my heart!O little bird among the trees,The sweetness of thy joyful voiceEntrances all the Hours of Love,And makes the listening woods rejoice.But not my country’s bird thou art:Sing elsewhere, come not near my heart!How peacefully thou murmurest,O gentle, limpid little brook;Within thy mirror crystal-brightThe rose and maiden bend to look.But not my country’s brook thou art:Flow elsewhere—come not near my heart!Although Armenia’s breeze and birdAbove a land of ruins fly;Although through mourning cypress grovesArmenia’s turbid stream flows by,—They are the sighing of her heart,And never shall from mine depart!
SPRINGBy MUGGURDICH BESHIGTASHLIAN(1829–1868)O little breeze, how fresh and sweetThou blowest in the morning air!Upon the flowers caressingly,And on the gentle maiden’s hair.But not my country’s breath thou art:Blow elsewhere, come not near my heart!O little bird among the trees,The sweetness of thy joyful voiceEntrances all the Hours of Love,And makes the listening woods rejoice.But not my country’s bird thou art:Sing elsewhere, come not near my heart!How peacefully thou murmurest,O gentle, limpid little brook;Within thy mirror crystal-brightThe rose and maiden bend to look.But not my country’s brook thou art:Flow elsewhere—come not near my heart!Although Armenia’s breeze and birdAbove a land of ruins fly;Although through mourning cypress grovesArmenia’s turbid stream flows by,—They are the sighing of her heart,And never shall from mine depart!
SPRING
By MUGGURDICH BESHIGTASHLIAN(1829–1868)O little breeze, how fresh and sweetThou blowest in the morning air!Upon the flowers caressingly,And on the gentle maiden’s hair.But not my country’s breath thou art:Blow elsewhere, come not near my heart!O little bird among the trees,The sweetness of thy joyful voiceEntrances all the Hours of Love,And makes the listening woods rejoice.But not my country’s bird thou art:Sing elsewhere, come not near my heart!How peacefully thou murmurest,O gentle, limpid little brook;Within thy mirror crystal-brightThe rose and maiden bend to look.But not my country’s brook thou art:Flow elsewhere—come not near my heart!Although Armenia’s breeze and birdAbove a land of ruins fly;Although through mourning cypress grovesArmenia’s turbid stream flows by,—They are the sighing of her heart,And never shall from mine depart!
By MUGGURDICH BESHIGTASHLIAN
(1829–1868)
O little breeze, how fresh and sweetThou blowest in the morning air!Upon the flowers caressingly,And on the gentle maiden’s hair.But not my country’s breath thou art:Blow elsewhere, come not near my heart!O little bird among the trees,The sweetness of thy joyful voiceEntrances all the Hours of Love,And makes the listening woods rejoice.But not my country’s bird thou art:Sing elsewhere, come not near my heart!How peacefully thou murmurest,O gentle, limpid little brook;Within thy mirror crystal-brightThe rose and maiden bend to look.But not my country’s brook thou art:Flow elsewhere—come not near my heart!Although Armenia’s breeze and birdAbove a land of ruins fly;Although through mourning cypress grovesArmenia’s turbid stream flows by,—They are the sighing of her heart,And never shall from mine depart!
O little breeze, how fresh and sweetThou blowest in the morning air!Upon the flowers caressingly,And on the gentle maiden’s hair.But not my country’s breath thou art:Blow elsewhere, come not near my heart!
O little breeze, how fresh and sweet
Thou blowest in the morning air!
Upon the flowers caressingly,
And on the gentle maiden’s hair.
But not my country’s breath thou art:
Blow elsewhere, come not near my heart!
O little bird among the trees,The sweetness of thy joyful voiceEntrances all the Hours of Love,And makes the listening woods rejoice.But not my country’s bird thou art:Sing elsewhere, come not near my heart!
O little bird among the trees,
The sweetness of thy joyful voice
Entrances all the Hours of Love,
And makes the listening woods rejoice.
But not my country’s bird thou art:
Sing elsewhere, come not near my heart!
How peacefully thou murmurest,O gentle, limpid little brook;Within thy mirror crystal-brightThe rose and maiden bend to look.But not my country’s brook thou art:Flow elsewhere—come not near my heart!
How peacefully thou murmurest,
O gentle, limpid little brook;
Within thy mirror crystal-bright
The rose and maiden bend to look.
But not my country’s brook thou art:
Flow elsewhere—come not near my heart!
Although Armenia’s breeze and birdAbove a land of ruins fly;Although through mourning cypress grovesArmenia’s turbid stream flows by,—They are the sighing of her heart,And never shall from mine depart!
Although Armenia’s breeze and bird
Above a land of ruins fly;
Although through mourning cypress groves
Armenia’s turbid stream flows by,—
They are the sighing of her heart,
And never shall from mine depart!