I BEHELD MY LOVE THIS MORNING
By SAYAT NOVA
(1712–1795)
I beheld my love this morning, in the garden paths she strayed,
All brocaded was the ground with prints her golden pattens made;
Like the nightingale, I warbled round my rose with wings displayed,
And I wept, my reason faltered, while my heart was sore dismayed.
Grant, O Lord, that all my foemen to such grief may be betrayed!
Love, with these thy whims and humours thou hast wrecked and ruined me.
Thou hast drunk of love’s own nectar, thy lips speak entrancingly.
With those honeyed words how many like me thou hast bound to thee!
Take the knife and slay me straightway—pass not by me mockingly.
Since I die of love, ‘twere better Beauty stabbed and set me free.
For I have no love beside thee—I would have thee know it well.
Thou for whom e’en death I’d suffer, list to what I have to tell.
See thou thwart not thy Creator,—all the past do not dispel:
Anger not thy Sayat Nova, for when in thy snare he fell
He was all bereft of reason by thy whims’ and humours’ spell.
THE FOX, THE WOLF, AND THE BEAR
FOLK SONG
The little fox, the wolf and bear made peace;
Like kinsfolk all, they bade their warfare cease.
The fox they consecrate a hermit now;—
False monk, false hermit, false recluse’s vow!
The little fox a sack found in the street
Through which he thrust his head; then shod his feet
With iron shoes, and got a staff, I trow—
False monk, false hermit, false recluse’s vow!
The fox has sent the wolf to fetch the bear.
“For him,” he said, “I live this life of care;
Yet never hath he sent me aught to eat:—
Sore are my knees with walking, sore my feet!”
At morning dawn forth to the hunt they creep;
A ram they catch, a lambkin and a sheep.
Holy dispenser is the wolf proclaimed—
Unjust dispenser, judge unwisely named!
He gives the sheep as portion to the bear;
The lambkin falls to the poor hermit’s share.
“The ram for me,” he said, “I’m tired and lamed”—
Unjust dispenser, judge unwisely named!
The bear was wroth, and turned him round about,
And with one blow the wolf’s two eyes put out.
“That sheep for me, a bear so great and famed?
Unjust dispenser, judge unwisely named!”
The little fox is sore afraid, and sees
A trap laid ready with a piece of cheese.
“O uncle, see, I’ve built a convent here,”
He said, “a place of rest, a place of prayer!”
The bear stretched out his paw for the repast,
The trap upon his neck closed hard and fast.
“Help me, my little nephew, for I fear
This is no convent, ’tis no house of prayer!”
The little fox with joy beheld the whole
And sang a mass for his great uncle’s soul.
“The wrong thou didst the wolf has brought thee there;
It is a house of rest, a house of prayer!”
O sovereign Justice, much thou pleasest me—
Who wrongs another soon shall cease to be.
And fasting in the trap must lie the bear,—
For ’tis a house of rest, a house of prayer!