Z rumovyshch i vohnyu sviy skarb naybilshyi – pravdy,
Ozloblenym boham ne viddanyi na mstu,
Vid vohnyshcha svoho vidchodyachy, zabrav ty
Z soboyu i nesesh kriz' stuzu i slotu.

Pozadu posvysty, chyyis' ochrypli kryky,
Chuzi slova v ustach, rozchavleni sercya,
I zlovorozyi hniv – takyi, yak tviy, velykyi,
Shcho strinet'sya z tvoyim, zchepyvshys', do kincya.

Ta kriz' tuman i dym, shchoraz pevnishe, blyzche,
Zryvayet'sya, vstaye, – o dobre bachysh ty! –
Pid kataklizmom dniv: pid chornym boyovyshchem
Vysoke polum’ya yedynoyi mety.

I zdesh strashnych nochey, hluchych udariv kryci,
Tverdych, yak sercya stuk, – ty yich tak dovho zdav! –
Az prostir peretnut' trydz'obi blyskavyci,
I hnivnyi rev stychiy, i alkazary slav.