THE WOE OF ARAXESMeditating by Araxes,Pacing slowly to and fro,Sought I traces of the grandeurHidden by her turgid flow. Turgid are thy waters, Mother,As they beat upon the shore.Do they offer lamentationsFor Armenia evermore?...But where, now, are all my people?Far in exile, homeless, lorn.While in widow's weeds and hopeless,Weeping, sit I here and mourn. Hear now! while my sons are absentAge-long fast I still shall keep;Till my children gain deliverance,Here I watch and pray and weep." Silent, then, the mighty MotherLet her swelling tides go free.And in mournful meditationSlowly wandered to the sea. Raphael Patkanian