Page:The Kobzar of the Ukraine.pdf/42

40 This, brother mist, I shall not do. I alone my fault must rue. Thee, sweet son, shall strangers christen, Thy mother's eyes with teardrops glisten. Thy very name I may not know As on through life I lonely go. I, by my sin, rich fortune lost, With thee, my son, to ill fate, was tossed. Yet curse me not, for evils past. My prayers to heaven shall reach at last. The skies above to my tears shall bend, Another fortune to thee I'll send." Through the fields she sobbing went. The gentle mist its shelter lent. Her tears were falling the path along, As she softly sang the widows song:

"Oh, in the field there is a grave Where the shining grasses wave; There the widow walked apart, Bitter sorrow in her heart. Poison herbs in vain she sought, Whereby evil spells are wrought Two little sons in arms she bore