Poems of Bedros Duryan

O glorious days of yore !
Rather may I be changed to fire
And bring you back once more !

When twinkle pale the stars at dawn,
When dewy buds unclose,
And tenderly the nightingale
Is singing to the rose,
All Nature’s harmonies, alas !
Can ne’er give back to me
The sighs that sound where cypress boughs
Are moaning like the sea.
Forget you, black and bitter days ?
No, never! but instead
Rather may I be turned to blood,
And make your darkness red !

Armenia’s mountains dark may smile,
Siberia’s ice may smoke,
But stern, unbending spirits still
Press on my neck the yoke.
Inflexible and cold are they;
When feeling surges high,
And I would speak, they stifle down
My free soul’s bitter cry.
Forget thee, justice? Never!
But ere my life departs,
Rather may I become a sword,
And make thee pierce men’s hearts!

When e’en the rich man and the priest
A patriot’s ardor feel,
And when Armenian hearts at length
Are stirred with love and zeal —
When free-souled sons Armenia bears,
These days of coldness past,
And fires of love and brotherhood
Are lighted up at last —
Shall I forget thee then, my lyre?
Ah, no! but when I die
Rather may I become thy voice,
And o’er Armenia sigh !

3. TO LOVE

A GALAXY of glances bright,
A sweet bouquet of smiles,
A crucible of melting words
Bewitched me with their wiles!

I wished to live retired, to love
The flowers and bosky glades,
The blue sky’s lights, the dew of morn,
The evening’s mists and shades;

To scan my destiny’s dark page,
In thought my hours employ,
And dwell in meditation deep
And visionary joy.

Then near me stirred a breath that seemed
A waft of Eden’s air,
The rustle of a maiden’s robe,
A tress of shining hair.

I sought to make a comrade dear
Of the transparent brook.
It holds no trace of memory ;
When in its depths I look,

I find there floating, clear and pale,
My face! Its waters hold
No other secret in their breast
Than wavelets manifold.

I heard a heart’s ethereal throb;
It whispered tenderly:
“ Dost thou desire a heart? ” it said.
“ Beloved, come to me! ”

I wished to love the zephyr soft
That breathes o’er fields of bloom;
It woundeth none, – a gentle soul
Whose secret is perfume.

So sweet it is, it has the power
To nurse a myriad dreams;
To mournful spirits, like the scent
Of paradise it seems.

Then from a sheaf of glowing flames
To me a whisper stole :
It murmured low, “ Dost thou desire
To worship a pure soul? ”

I wished to make the lyre alone
My heart’s companion still,
To know it as a loving friend,
And guide its chords at will.