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,[3] 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;