Rozmova

– Chlopci chy chuly, yak surma po nas holosyla?
Syla voroza zakryla do voli nam shlyah...
– Pane horunzyi, yakby z to bula prosto syla, *
My b toyu sylu davno vze trymaly v rukah.

– Plakaly verby nad doleyu nashoyu zloyu,
Tilky i bulo toho shchastya na ment, na kovtok...
– Pane horunzyi, my ishly ne namarne do boyu; **
Shchos taky, bachyte, vyroslo z nashyh kistok!..

– Shchos taky vyroslo, kazete?.. Tak, pravda vasha, –
Ale z dyvitsya, yak hlushyt te zillya osot!..
– Pane Symone, to konykam zavtrashnim pasha,
A hto na konykiv syade – dosyahne vysot!

– Chlopci, to shcho z: vam ne shkoda i zyttya molodoho? –
Vashi kohani vze pravnukiv nyanchat svoyih...
– Pane Symone, my z tym nyni blyzche do Boha,
Shchob ne za sebe molytys iomu, a za nyh.

– Shcho z, Ukrayini ne vik vikuvaty sumnoyu,
My shche narodymos v nashyh onukah ne raz!
Chlopci, ya dyakuyu vam, shcho buly vy zi mnoyu,
Chlopci, ya dyakuyu doli, shcho buv bilya vas! (ost 2 ryadky – 2)