A v poli mohyla z vitrom hovoryla:
– Povii, vitre buinesenkyi, shchob ya i ne chornila.
Shchob ya ne chornila, shchob ya ne marnila,
Shchob po myenye trava rosla, rosla ze i zelenila.
A u stepu richka, cherez richku kladka.
Ne pokydai, kozachenko, ridnenkoho batka.
A yakshcho pokynesh samoho – zahynesh,
Richenkoyu bystrenkoyu za Dunai zaplyvesh.