In many a distant, unknown land,

My sons belovÈd exiled roam,

Servile they kiss the stranger’s hand;

How shall I find and bring them home?

The ages pass, no tidings come;

My brave ones fall, are lost and gone.

My blood is chilled, my voice is dumb,

And friend or comfort I have none.

With endless griefs my heart is worn,

Eternal sorrow is my doom;

Far from my sons, despis’d, forlorn,

I must descend the darksome tomb.

Thou shepherd wandering o’er the hill,

Come weep with me my children lost;

Let mournful strains the valleys fill

For those we loved and valued most.

Fly, crane, Armenia’s bird, depart;

Tell them I die of grief; and tell

How hope is dead within my heart—

Bear to my sons my last farewell!