18
THE KOBZAR OF THE UKRAINE
Thus may'st thou know thy lot,
Mankind remembers not.
Though groans the old man's sadness tell,
Upon his book he quickly fell,
And tramped and tramped about his cell.
He sits again in mood forlorn
Wonders why he e'er was born.
One thing alone he fain would tell,
He loves his Ukraina well.
For Matins now
the great bell booms,
The aged monk
his cowl resumes.
For Ukraina now to pray
My good old Palee limps away.
