What about the wedding feast?
Who shall take the mother’s place?
How we’ll miss my ’Stasia’s face.”
The tears along his cheeks do fall,
Yet a word does the Servant’s heart appall.
Hastily rushing from the room,
In chamber near she falls in swoon.
The house is silent, the light is dim,
The sorrowing Servant thinks of him
And whispers: “Mother, mother, mother.”