A za synim morem, u shyrokim poli
Choroshiyi lyudy poselylysya,
Prosyly u neba shchaslyvoyi doli,
Prosyly u richky karasya.

A daleke nebo doli ne davalo,
A hlyboka richka rybu berehla,
I prosyly lyudy rohatu Varvaru,
Shchob Varvara yisty yim dala.

Yak davala yisty rohata Varvara,
Vyderla v narodu krychitku dushi,
Ta dusha zaplakala, yak moya hitara,
I polizla spaty u kushchi.

A pislya Varvary buly rizni turky,
A todi nimota i braty-raby,
Rozdyraly dushu, nache mavpy paliturku,
Smykaly narod toy za chuby.

A za synim morem, u shyrokim poli
Neshchasniyi lyudy poselylysya,
Prosyly u neba shchaslyvoyi doli,
Prosyly u richky karasya...