THE WOE OF ARAXES Meditating by Araxes, Pacing slowly to and fro, Sought I traces of the grandeur Hidden by her turgid flow. Turgid are thy waters, Mother, As they beat upon the shore. Do they offer lamentations For Armenia evermore? . . . But where, now, are all my people? Far in exile, homeless, lorn. While in widow's weeds and hopeless, Weeping, sit I here and mourn. Hear now! while my sons are absent Age-long fast I still shall keep; Till my children gain deliverance, Here I watch and pray and weep." Silent, then, the mighty Mother Let her swelling tides go free. And in mournful meditation Slowly wandered to the sea. Raphael Patkanian