Armenian Is The Language To Speak With

Dim With The Mist Of Years, Gray Flits The Shade Of Power.

There Is A Tear For All Who Die, A Mourner O'er The Humblest Grave.

When We Two Parted In Silence And Tears, Half Broken-hearted, To Sever For Years.

Nothing So Fretful, So Despicable As A Scribbler, See What I Am, And What A Parcel Of Scoundrels I Have Brought About My Ears, And What Language I Have Been Obliged To Treat Them With To Deal With Them In Their Own Way; - All This Comes Of Authorship.

So Bright The Tear In Beauty's Eye, Love Half Regrets To Kiss It Dry.