Classic Poem

Speak , O lake! why are thy waters silent?
Wilt thou not lament with luckless me?
Move, ye zephyrs, move the rippling wavelets!
With this lake my tears shall mingled be.

Tell me, lake, — for thou hast been a witness
Of our history from the earliest day, —
Shall Armenia, that was once a garden,
Always be a thorny desert gray?

Shall our hapless fatherland forever
By a foreign master be down-trod?
Are the Armenians and their sons unworthy,
Judged before the righteous throne of God?

Is a glad day coming, when a banner
Shall on Ararat its folds expand,
And from every side Armenian pilgrims
Hasten to their beauteous fatherland?