The Rock
THE ROCK
BY HOVHANNES HOVHANNESSIAN
ABOVE the waters, like a hoary giant,
The rock stands up, majestic and defiant.
The little waves, as to and fro they move,
Greet him with kisses and with looks of love.
The wavelets of the river laugh and dance,
As in their arms the mirrored sunbeams glance;
And with their smiles of winning, child-like grace,
They woo the rock, and murmur in his face:
"O Aged-One, why art thou never glad?
The lines that seam thy countenance are sad.
The world is ever changing; thou alone
Art still the same with thy dark face of stone.
"Free children of the mountains ever free,
We bring rich gifts of jewels unto thee;
Scent thee with perfumes of the mountain rose--
Heaven's daughter fair, that on our margin grows.
"Sweet strains of gentle melody we breathe,
And call the fishes from our depths beneath;
And gilded with the spring-tide's golden rays,
We make thee on our merry revels gaze.
"And songs of love we warble in thine ear,
From morning dawn until the stars appear:--
We fondle thee, and on thine aged breast
Our passions lull, and bid them sink to rest."
The wavelets hasten, moving to and fro,
The rock still sorrows o’er his ancient woe;
The wavelets play, and laughing onward press--
The rock remains, gloomy and motionless.