In alien lands they roam, my children dear; Where shall I make appeal, with none to hear? Where shall I find them? Far away from me My sons serve others, thralls in slavery.
Oh, come, my children, back to me! Come home, your motherland to see!
Ages have passed, no news of them I hear; Dead, dead are they, my sons that knew not fear. I weep, the blood is frozen in my veins; No one will cure my sorrows and my pains.
My blood is failing and my heart outworn, My face forever mournful and forlorn; To my dark grave with grief I shall descend, Longing to see my children to the end.
O wandering shepherd, you whose mournful song Rings through the valleys as you pass along! Come, let us both, with many a bitter tear, Weep for the sad death of our children dear!
Crane of the fatherland, fly far away, Fly out of sight, beyond the setting day; My last sad greetings to my children bear, For my life's hope has died into despair!
Michael Ghazarian Nalbandian was born in Russian Armenia in 1830; graduated at the University of St. Petersburg with the title of Professor; was active as a teacher, author, and journalist; fell under suspicion for his political opinions, and underwent a rigorous imprisonment of three years, after which he was exiled to the province of Sarakov, and died there, in 1866, of lung disease contracted in prison. It is forbidden in Russia to possess a picture of Nalbandian; but portraits of him, with his poem on "Liberty" printed around the margin, are circulated secretly.
When God, who is forever free, Breathed life into my earthly frame,-- From that first day, by his free will When I a living soul became,-- A babe upon my mother's breast, Ere power of speech was given to me, Even then I stretched my feeble arms Forth to embrace thee, Liberty!
Wrapped round with many swaddling bands, All night I did not cease to weep, And in the cradle, restless still, My cries disturbed my mother's sleep. "O mother!" in my heart I prayed, "Unbind my arms and leave me free!" And even from that hour I vowed To love thee ever, Liberty!
When first my faltering tongue was freed, And when my parents' hearts were stirred With thrilling joy to hear their son Pronounce his first clear-spoken word, "Papa, mamma," as children use, Were not the names first said by me; The first word on my childish lips Was thy great name, O Liberty!