killed while making a raid with a troop of Lesghian horsemen
through the valley of Georgia:

My beloved went away into the valley of the Alazan,
and as he left me he looked over his shoulder
at every step.
My clear-eyed one rode down into the lowlands of
Georgia, and his horse was fleet and fearless
as a mountain-wolf.
But from the depths of the lowlands has come the
bitter news that our mountain-hawks will never
more return:
From the far-away valley of Georgia have come the
scorching tidings that our lions lie dead in the
pass with broken talons.
O merciful God! if I were only an eagle, that I might
touch once more those cold dead hands!
O almighty One! if I were only a wild dove of the
cliffs, that I might look once more into that
pale dead face!
I envy thee, I envy thee, O jackal of Georgia! thou
feedest upon the bodies of those who wore
weapons of steel!
I envy thee, I envy thee, O raven of the river! thou
drinkest the eyes of those who rode to battle on
swift horses.
The jackal devours the bodies of the warriors who
bore weapons of steel, and skulks away into
the depths of the forest:
The raven drinks up the eyes of those who rode to
battle on swift horses, and with hoarse croaks
vanishes in the blue sky.

There is no attempt in this wild lament to soften or mitigate the
horrors of a violent death by throwing around it a halo of heroism and
glory. The woman cares not what prodigies of valor her lover performed,
but she dwells with self-torturing vividness of imagination upon the
helpless and abandoned body which she can never again see or touch, but
which the ravens and jackals can tear and mutilate at will.

Compare with this the following lament of a Lesghian woman over the body
of her dead husband:

I would stand on the shore of the green ocean if I only knew
That I should see the diamond which has fallen into its surges:
I would climb to the lonely summit of the highest mountain if I
only knew
That I should find a spring flower blossoming in the blue ice.
If one look