The religious ceremony over, the bridal pair and their guests went to the house of Jousif hodja, where a great collation awaited them. The plates were heaped with portions of turkey, goose, woodcock and grouse; then came a course of pastry and Turkish sweets: baklava [12] with pistachio and hazel nuts, walnut cakes, lokums [13] melting in the mouth, preserved peaches and plums, orangeade, cedrats, colored sugar-plums, and brown and white nougat. Coffee was served in tiny silver cups, passed around by the servants; some of the guests preferred sherbets (iced drinks) flavored with rose, violet or vanilla. All were happy and gay: the bridal pair alone were not expected to take part in the general merriment, but sat in formal silence, enthroned at the head of the table. A white-haired bard sang this ancient ballad, accompanying himself on the tamboura: "Dark night shrouds the plain of Avarair, The silver moon has hidden herself to weep in silence: For Vartan and his braves are lying Dead on the cruel earth. Suddenly a piercing cry rends the darkness: 'Vartan, Vartan where art thou?' But nought except the screech-owl Responds to the maiden's despairing cry. The fair Shnorig advances, groping her way; Tearless, her eyes burning with fever, She hastens over the battle-field Searching for the body of her betrothed lover, 'Saint Ripsimé, [14] protectress of lovers in distress, Guide her in her search!' Courage well-nigh fails the unhappy maid. By the light of her lantern she questions the faces of the dead; At length a sob escapes her; There at her feet lies her lover, dead. Never has he seemed to her more beautiful. His face is marble white; his hair ebony black. She throws herself upon his neck, Trying in vain to restore warmth by her kisses. Slowly resuscitated by love, The Mamigonian rises. His eyes are filled with the terror of the Beyond; But his lips murmur: 'Shnorig, my well-beloved, Shnorig, my sweet bride, I am going to leave thee; The dark visitant calls me and will not wait. Death comes to clasp me in his skeleton arms; Our love is cut down like the flowers of the field. 'Vartan, Vartan, leave me not! I will claim thee from my rival Or die with thee!'