'Tis true! I should have welcomed the _bar-ru;_[1]
But he hath since returned to Subartu."[2]
His harp he took from its dust-covered case,
And kissed its carved and well-remembered face;
And tuning it, he glanced toward the wood,
And sang his farewell ode to solitude:

Farewell, ye mountains, woods and trees--
My heart doth long again for joy;
I love your wilds and mossy leas,
But oh, your solitude doth cloy!

I love to see the _bur-khi-is_[3]
Sweep stately o'er the mossy rocks;
And _tsabi_[4] in a wild like this,
Hear the tattoo of red woodchucks.

I love the cries of _lig-bar-ri_[5]
The _nes-i_[6] calling for their prey;
And leaping of the _na-a-li_[7]
That fly in wildest fear away.

I love the _bu-hir-tser-i_[8] all,
_Khar-sa-a-nii sa-qu-u-tu;_[9]
Hear _cu-uts-tsi_[10] with thunder roll
Across the skies within my view.

I love to see the _ca-ca-bi_[11]
Peep through the pine-trees o'er my home,
And watch the wild _tu-ra-a-khi_[12]