A v poli mohyla z vitrom hovoryla:
– Poviy, vitre buynesenkyi, shchob ya y ne chornila.

Shchob ya ne chornila, shchob ya ne marnila,
Shchob po myenye trava rosla, rosla ze y zelenila.

A u stepu richka, cherez richku kladka.
Ne pokyday, kozachenko, ridnenkoho bat'ka.

A yakshcho pokynesh samoho – zahynesh,
Richenkoyu bystrenkoyu za Dunay zaplyvesh.