And in that year of cruel rule,
When all our burden was one hand,
The twilight cover I sought out,
From day's bright face I stayed without,
And ran to graves' unpassioned cool.
This way I thought I might elude
The wrath divine in holy knoll,
Antiquity's gray eased my pain,
And melodies, millennial fame,
Relieved the ailments of my soul.
A world alive and whole I made
There where I once had sought sad tombs.
At break of day the reeds sang out,
Long crumbled ash, the flutes would shout,
The lea of death would never fade.
With lively greeting of my love,
Old tales came forth in no dead voice;
Nearby the vales would shudder, shake,
The ancient world as one would quake,
And clap like thunder: "Live! Rejoice!"
As year and year divide the plains,
So now I hear the centuries' chant;
In mellow nature's glorious lair,
Of love, cognition, freedom's blare,
Of songs, of slaves, of breaking chains.
Armenia! Your ancient voice,
Fresh wind amidst the summer's heat!
How cheerfully our locks are raised,
Engulfed by rain, I stand like maize.
Below the storm, above defeat.