A minstrel passed—as it befell— A singer, singing sweetest strains; He broke the witch’s evil spell, And loosed the gentle maiden’s chains. She ran to him and kissed his face, And said, “How I have longed for thee! God, in His mercy and His grace, Hath sent thee here to set me free!” And when, above the mountain steep, The moon shone out her silver light, And when the stars began to peep, Twinkling and scatt’ring jewels bright, The minstrel’s love stole out unseen, With burning thoughts of her belov’d; All through the woods so dark and green, Seeking, and seeking him, she roved. A hut there was within that wood, Meet dwelling for some dervish old; All lined with moss and leaves, it stood Protected from the rain and cold. The minstrel lived within this nook, And sang alone beneath the trees. His friend—Firdausi’s wondrous book, His comrades—Sadi and Hafiz. The Houri of the castle there Spent many happy days and nights— Immortal souls in Jennet [15] fair Have never tasted such delights. He wiped the tears by sorrow shed, And healed the wounds by sorrow wrought; Like captive from a prison fled, Her cares and woes she soon forgot. Broken and aged was her sire; A mighty Prince, the castle’s lord, To satisfy his heart’s desire, Had reft her from him with his sword. The Prince held office high at court, And countless women, bright as day, Lived in his harem’s vile resort, And slaves, more than my tongue can say. His women, guarded day and night, Caged in with iron bars he keeps; But LOVE, more strong than despot’s might, Breaks through that cage, those bars o’erleaps. NO BIRD CAN REACH THE MOUNTAIN’S CREST By HOVHANNES COSTANIANTZ No bird can reach the mountain’s crest. There blow the winds that never rest; And ‘midst the stars that crown the height, Saint Gregory’s fair lamp shines bright. [16] Ah, gentle brother, sweet and brave, That Light thy sword and spirit save! How many rills the mountain yields! Those rills are streams, that dew the fields. My brother sweet, those rushing streams Are like my longings and my dreams. Happy the maid that loveth thee! When shall thy heart’s desire be? See, in the South a tempest breaks— tempest howls, the leaflet quakes; The bluebell hangs its petals bright, The cock cries out with all his might. Like showers of gold comes down the rain:— Why comes my love not home again? The Star of Light begins his course, The brave one mounts upon his horse. He drives his spurs into its flanks, And rides away to join the ranks. Happy the maid that loveth thee, When shall thy heart’s desire be?