In the village of Subotiv,
Upon a lofty hill
There stands the coffin (2) of Ukraine —
A crypt both wide and still:
It is the church of great Bohdan,
Where once he used to pray
That Muscovite and Cossack might
Share good and ill alway.
May peace be to your soul, Bohdan!
Their gain has been our loss:
The Muscovites have snatched away
All that they came across;
And now they rend the burial mounds
In search of further loot;
Their hand assaults your hidden vaults;
They curse your soul to boot
Because they’ve nothing for their pains…
That’s how it is, Bohdan!
You’ve ruined derelict Ukraine
By your most friendly plan!

https://taras-shevchenko.storinka.org/taras-shevchenko-poem-subotiv-translated-by-%D1%81-h-andrusyshen-and-watson-kirkconnell.html