62
THE KOBZAR OF THE UKRAINE
The sickness harder grows amain,
For her the sacred host's appointed,
She's been with holy oils anointed,
Yet nought relieves her pain.
Old Trophim' in courtyard walks a-ring
Moving like a stricken thing.
Katherine, for the suff'rers sake
Doth never rest for her eyelids take,
And even the owls upon the roof
Of coming evil tell the proof.
The suff'rer now, each day, each hour,
Whispers the question, with waning power:
"Daughter Katherine, is Mark yet here?
So struggle I with doubt and fear,
Did I but know I'd see him for sure
Through all my pain I might endure."
