New Dark Days

The centuries of bloodshed
Are past, those cruel years;
But there is still one country
Whose mountains drip with tears,
Whose river-banks are blood-stained,
Whose mourning loads the breeze,
A land of dreary ruins,
Ashes, and cypress-trees.

No more for the Armenian
A twinkling star appears;
His spirits flowers have faded
Beneath a rain of tears.
Ceased are the sounds of harmless mirth,
The dances hand in hand ;
Only the weapon of the Turk
Shines freely through the land.

O roots of vengeance, hero's bones,
Who fell of old in fight,
Have ye all crumbled into dust,
Nor sent one shoot to light?
Oh, of that eagle nation
Now trampled by the Turk,
Is nothing left but black-hued crows,
And moles with eyes obscured?

Give back our sisters roses,
Our brothers who have died,
The crosses of our churches,
Our nation's peace and pride !
O Sultan, we demand of thee
And with our hearts entreat
Give us hope that a day would pass
Without a dying seed!