II (translation)

Towards the rocky spring, in the thick forest, thick and dark

He left at dawn... dew and fog... not grazed yet,

Dew on the feet, fog on the meat.

Eighteen hours till sunset.

Up in the sky, beams of the sun, daybreak

A steep descent... the hazel wood's green, the sycamore grove's yellow.

Green is the iris's bud... shepherd am I, here, in the mountains.

When the sun rises I take my flock on the balks

When the moon rises I tell the woods good night

And the leaf is swinging me, and the doina's soothing me,

And the thought is swinging me, and the pipe is soothing me.

Fairy Belladonna, grass of the woods, flower of the woods, let me pick you up

In moonlight, in the middle of the forest, in Their garden

In the depth of a thick night, the lonely moon unstitches to let the spell take place.

Masters of the Wind, Earth's Enemies

Stay behind me, show me my way; make the spell take shape, all by itself.

On the high top hill, fog and darkness (negura)

From deep down the valley, till far in the distance.

From mountain to mountain, from realm to realm, from stone to stone

(Mountains' lynx, forests' bears, beasts of the hills

Foxes of the rocks, springs of the groves, all of them were gazing and wondering.)

From within winds and whirlwinds thrown away towards the stars

To measure the earth with his steps and the sky with his thought.

On a path of the lost, towards Ursu Mare... up the Upper World.

The near sky speaks the secret wisdom.

(Woods were quaking, firs and elms were shaking, beeches and sycamores were bending,

Cooling his forehead, kissing his hand, weeping upon him with their sigh.)

His steps measure the earth, his lightning the sky.

In the skies' grove... heart of the earth.

Indeed!

On a path through the thicket... at the old hazel wood

At the foot of a mountain, on the lowest hills,

Through silent fields blown by winds,

Caught by night in the woods - I am their long-forgotten apparition.

Green fir's bud up in the mountains, on the lowest hills,

On silent fields blown by winds, and by rains,

Behold, between the mountains and the hills, a mighty voice is echoing from above.

From everywhere they gather round the fire, in moonlight!

Round dance begins, it holds the mountains,

They become one, and bring the other land into this one,

A trade! By giving thou give, you're mountain's own... you're being it!