Oy zacvyla cheremcha, zacvyla yarym cvitom,
Tam prashchavsya ta strilec' sichovyi z bilym s'vitom.

Tam prashchavsya ta strilec' sichovyi z slizonkamy,
Shcho ne bude komu vykopaty yemu yamy.

Shcho ne bude truny tysovoyi zhotovyty,
Bude tilo chorne hayvoronnya roznosyty.

A cheremcha tuyu skarhu tychu zrozumila,
Chystu dushu strilcya sichovoho pozalila:

"Spy spokiyno, strilchyku sichovyi, spy, miy synu,
A ya tebe chesno pochovayu, yak dytynu".

A yak vranci pryishly yoho druzi pohlyadity,
A za nichku strilcya sichovoho vkryly c'vity.