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That he may bury my body;
Another purse I give for to adorn the churches,
The third I give to the maimed and the blind,
That the blind may go into all the world,
To sing and to celebrate Marko."
When Marko had made an end of writing,
He fixed the letter on a branch of the fir tree,110
Where one might see it from the road.
He cast his golden inkhorn into the well,
He did off his green mantle,
And spread it on the grass beneath the fir trees,
He made the sign of the rood and sate him down on the mantle;
He pulled his sable kalpak over his eyes,
Then laid him down never to rise no more.
By the well lay the dead Marko,
From day and again to day, a week of days,
For whoso by adventure passed that way 120
And was ware of Marko,
He did think ever that Marko surely slept,
And made wide his path round about him,
For fear lest he should wake Marko.
Where good fortune is, there also is evil fortune,
And where evil fortune is, there is good fortune also;
And truly good fortune it was,
That led thither Vaso the Igumen
From white Vilindar church on the Holy Mountain,
With Isaias, his deacon, with him. 130
And when the Igumen was ware of Marko,
With his right hand he beckoned the deacon:
"Softly, my son," quoth he, "lest thou wake him,
For Marko roused from slumber is evil-disposed,
And might well make an end of both of us."
But as the monk looked to see how Marko slept,
He perceived the letter above him,
And heedfully he read it,
And the letter told him that Marko was dead.
