Then bearest on this careworn heart’s last sigh
To echo in Armenia ere it die!
O friend of aching hearts, soul of the rose,
That breakest with thy voice the night’s repose;
Sing, little Nightingale, from yonder tree—
Armenia’s deathless heroes sing with me!
From Thaddeus’ convent as thy voice I heard,
Praying before the cross, my heart was stirred.
I hastened forth beneath thy magic spell