Far from my sons, despis’d, forlorn,
I must descend the darksome tomb.
Thou shepherd wandering o’er the hill,
Come weep with me my children lost;
Let mournful strains the valleys fill
For those we loved and valued most.
Fly, crane, Armenia’s bird, depart;
Tell them I die of grief; and tell
How hope is dead within my heart—
Bear to my sons my last farewell!