But her lover can no longer reply;
The white daisies are dyed crimson with his blood.
His lips breathe one last sigh,
And his soul is borne away on the wings of the wind.
Jealous Death is lying in wait for a second victim:
He it is who inspires the wretched Shnorig with fatal thoughts.
Sadly the maiden looks upon the battle-field,
The plain of Avaraīr.
She murmurs a farewell to life,
And draws the bloody sword from Vartan’s body.