Armenian Literature by Anonymous
page 79 of 213 (37%)
page 79 of 213 (37%)
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Had home and parents and a numerous kin;
But on an Eastertide, amid a whirl Of pillage, murder, and the savage din Of plundering Kavasses, the Pacha saw Her budding beauty, and his will was law. Her vengeful sire fell 'neath a sabre's stroke; Her mother, broken-hearted, gave to God The life in which no joys could now evoke The wonted happiness. The harem of the Turk Enfolds Haripsime's fresh maidenhood, And there where danger and corruption lurk, Where Shitan's nameless and befouling brood Surround each Georgian and Armenian pearl, She weeps and weeps, shunning the shallow joys Of trinkets, robes, of music, or the whirl Of joyous dance, of singing girls and boys, And murmurs always in a sobbing prayer, "Shall never help be sent? Is this despair?" RAPHAEL PATKANIAN. * * * * * LONGING Tell me, brother, where is rest From the flame that racks my breast |
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