In his poem on avarice he says that that vice is the root of all evil: “Kings and princes are continually fighting against one another, watering the country with blood. They destroy flourishing towns; they drive the inhabitants into exile; and spread desolation wherever they go; and all this is through avarice.”
He goes on to specify other evils springing from this sin.
In the love songs of Mkrtich Naghash, the Rose and the Nightingale whisper to each other fiery love speeches complaining of each other’s cruelty. Then they admonish each other not to let their passion consume them, and sing each other’s praises.
This is an extract from one of his songs of exile: “The thoughts of an exile from his country are wanderers like himself. If his mind is wiser than Solomon’s, if his words are precious pearls, in a foreign land they bid him be silent and call him an ignorant fool. His death is as bitter as his life; there is no one to cross his hands over his heart; they laugh as they cover him with earth; no mourner follows him to the grave. But I, Naghash, say that an exile’s heart is tender. In a foreign land, what is sweet seems gall; the rose becomes a thorn. Speak gently to an exile; give him a helping hand, and you will expiate your sins which rankle like thorns.”
These songs of exile (or pilgrim songs) are a special feature of Armenian poetry and for ages have been written by various poets. They are original and often quaint and express the feelings of Armenians who live far from their native mountains and fields, showing how they pine for the land of their birth, reflecting the natural beauties of their fatherland, and their yearning for their hearth and the dear faces of home.
In 1469 in the town of Mardin there was an epidemic of smallpox, which caused many deaths. He thus describes one of the victims: “A youth beautiful to see, the image of the sun; his brows were arches; his eyes like lamps guiding him by their light. This lovely child lay on the ground, writhing piteously, looking to right and left, while the terrible Angel of Death was busily engaged in loosing the cords of his soul. Then the boy cried, saying: ‘Pity me and save me from the hands of this holy angel, for I am young.’ Then he turned to his father, and asking help from him, said: ‘There are a thousand desires in my heart and not one of them fulfilled.’
“The father answered: ‘I would not begrudge gold and silver for thy redemption; but these are of no avail. I would willingly give my life for thine.’ In the end the light of the child’s life was extinguished; the lovely hue of his face faded; his sea-like eyes lost their lustre; the power of his graceful arm was cut off.”
Here is a translation in verse of a poem on a mysterious Flower:—
“All the lovely flowers that were
One by one have left and gone,