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!