The Crane has lost his way across the heaven,
From yonder stormy cloud I hear him cry,
A traveller a'er an unknown pathway driven,
O shining stars!
Eyes of the night,
You smile so bright.
'Neath a hazel's green, gathered in a ring
Sat the men of age, who had known life's sting.
They sat them around,
Stooped on the ground,
The high-throned Abul and Metin mountains
Back-to-back in proud silence stand,
Holding high on their mighty shoulders
Parvana—a beautiful ancient land.
Beside the laughing lake of Van
A little hamlet lies;
Each night into the waves a man
Leaps under darkened skies.
The way was heavy and the night was dark,
And yet we survived
Both sorrow and gloom.
Through the ages we go and gaze at the stark
For forty long years I follow one path,
Straight and fearless
Towards a bright world, the Holy Unknown.
Armenian grief is a sea,
A fathomless, boundless main.
In that dark expanse drifts my soul,
Mournful, in mortal pain.
It started up, our true Chalak,
Raced across the mountain flank,
On and on through the darkened wood
With my bold brother in hot pursuit.