But when the hosts of Armenia arose once more against Queen Semiramis to avenge the death of Ara, she said: “I have commanded the gods to lick his wounds, and he shall live again.” At the same time she thought to bring Ara back to life by witchcraft and charms, for she was maddened by the intensity of her desires. But when the body began to decay, she commanded them to cast it into a deep pit, and to cover it. And having dressed up one of her men in secret, she sent forth the fame of him thus: “The gods have licked Ara and have brought him back to life again, thus fulfilling our prayers and our pleasure. Therefore from this time forth shall they be the more glorified and worshipped by us, for that they are the givers of joy and the fulfillers of desire.” She also erected a new statue in honour of the gods and worshipped it with many sacrifices, showing unto all as if the gods had brought Ara back to life again. And having caused this report to be spread over all the land of Armenia and satisfied the people she put an end to the fighting. And she took the son of Ara whom his beloved wife Nouvart had borne unto him and who was but twelve years old at the time of his father’s death. And she called his name Ara in memory of her love for Ara the Beautiful, and appointed him ruler over the land of Armenia, trusting him in all things. LAMENT OVER THE HEROES FALLEN IN THE BATTLE OF AVARAIR By KAREKIN SRVANSTIAN (1840–1892) If Goghtan’s bards no longer crown Armenia’s heroes with their lays, Let deathless souls from Heaven come down, Our valiant ones to praise! Ye shining angel hosts, descend: On Ararat’s white summit pause; Let God Himself the heavens rend, To come and judge our cause. Fly, clouds, from Shavarshan away, Pour not on it your gentle rain:— ’Tis drenched with streams of blood to-day Shed by our brave ones slain. Henceforth the rose and asphodel No more shall on our plains appear; But in the land where Vartan fell Shall Faith her blossoms rear. Fit monument to Vartan’s name, Mount Ararat soars to the sky. And Cross-crowned convents tell his fame, And churches vast and high. Thy record too shall ever stand, O Eghishé, for where they fell, Thou forthwith camest, pen in hand, Their faith and death to tell. Bright sun, pierce with thy rays the gloom, Where Khaghdik’s crags thy light repel, There lies our brave Hmayag’s tomb,— There, where he martyred fell. And, moon, thy sleepless vigil keep O’er our Armenian martyrs’ bones; With the soft dews of Maytime steep Their nameless funeral stones. Armenia’s Stork, our summer guest, And all ye hawks and eagles, come, Watch o’er this land—’tis our bequest— We leave to you our home. About the ashes hover still, Your nests among the ruins make; And, swallows, come and go until Spring for Armenia break!