Strilecka mohyla z vitrom hovoryla:
– Povii, vitre buinesenkyi, shchob ya ne zmarnila.
Shchob ya ne zmarnila, shchob ya ne zchornila,
Shchob na meni trava rosla ta i sya zelenila.
Spit, moyi orlyata, hoch temnaya hata,
Bo vesnoyu hrest vinchayut vkrayinski divchata.
Vkrayinski divchata, ukrayinski dity,
Bude pisnya marnoslavna volju homonity.
Bude homonity ta i bude kazaty:
Nai vas Boh blahoslovlyaye, Ukrayina-maty.