The autumn is near, and thou art ready to go: thou hast joined a large flock: thou hast not answered me, and thou art flown! Crane, go from our country and fly far away! The nameless author of these lines has had Dante's thought: Tu proverai si come sa di sale Lo pane altrui ... It is strange that the Armenians should be at once one of the most scattered peoples on the face of the earth, and one of the most passionately devoted to their fatherland. It should not be forgotten, when reading these Armenian bird-lays, that an old belief yet survives in that country that the souls of the blessed dead fly down from heaven, in the shape of beautiful birds, and perching in the branches of the trees, look fondly at their dear ones on earth as they pass beneath. When the peasant sees the birds fluttering above overhead in the wood he will on no account molest them, but says to his boy, "That is your dear mother, your little brother, your sister--be a good child, or it will fly away and never look at you again with its sweet little eyes." The clear cool streams and vast treacherous salt lakes of Armenia are not without their laureates. Thus sings the bard of a mountain rivulet: "Down from yon distant mountain The water flows through the village, Ha! A dark boy comes forth, And washing his hands and face, Washing, yes washing, And turning to the water, asked, Ha! Water, from what mountain dost thou come? O my cool and sweet water! Ha! I came from that mountain, Where the old and new snow lie one on the other. Water, to what river dost thou go? O my cool and sweet water! Ha! I go to that river Where the bunches of violets abound. Ha! Water, to what vineyard dost thou go? O my cool and sweet water! Ha! I go to that vineyard Where the vine-dresser is within! Ha! Water, what plant dost thou water? O my cool and sweet water! Ha! I water that plant Whose roots give food to the lamb, The roots give food to the lamb, Where there are the apple tree and the anemone. Water, to what garden dost thou go? O my cool and sweet water! Ha! I go into that garden Where there is the sweet song of the nightingale! Ha! Water, into what fountain dost thou go? O my cool and sweet little water! I go to that fountain Where thy love comes and drinks. I go to meet her and kiss her chin, And satiate myself with her love.