Catre sipotu da piatra, din padurea deasa, deasa si intunecoasa
Pleca dimineata, pa roua, pa ceata, pa roua nepascuta,
Cu roua-n picioare, cu ceata-n spinare.
Opspe suliti pin-n apus.
Sus la naltu cerului, la razele soarelui, 'n revarsatu zorilor
La greu coboris, verde alunis, galban paltinis.
Foaie da mugur da stinjen eu is baci aci la munte.
Cind rasare mindru soare ias cu turma pe razoare,
Cind rasare mindra luna zic, codrului noapte buna,
Si ma leagana frunza, si m-adoarme lin doina,
Si ma leagana gindu, si m-adoarme fluieru.
Mindra matraguna, iarb-a padurii, floarea padurii, lasa-ma sa te culeg,
Sub claru lunii, 'n mijlocu padurii, din gradina Dinsalor.
La mijloc da noapte deasa, luna singura dascoasa, vraja sigura sa iasa.
Stapinele ale vintului, Dusmanele ale pamintului
Stati in urma-mi, calea da mi-i da, vraja da la sine sa facea.
Pe nalt virf da magura, ceata si negura
Da jos, jos din vale, pina hat... in zare...
Si din munte-n munte, si din plai in plai, pina-n piatra-n piatra,
(Muntii cu risii, codrii cu ursii, magurile cu fiarele, bitcele cu ciutele
Stincile cu vulpile, dumbravi cu izvoarele, tati adinc priveau... si sa minunau.)
In vinturi si-n volburi, din vinturi aruncat, si trimes, in putu cu jgheab
Sa masoare pamintu, pamintu cu umbletu, si ceru cu cugetu.
Si pre calea ratacitilor, inspre Ursu Mare... 'n Tara da Sus.
Ceru megies, sfatosenia graieste.
(Codru sa cutremura, ulmi si brazi sa clatina, fagi si paltini sa pleca,
Fruntea da i-o racorea, mina da i-o saruta si cu freamat da-l plingea.)
Sa masoare pamintu, pamintu cu umbletu, si ceru cu fulgeru.
In cringu cerului, din sorbu pamintului.
Zau!
P-un drum in dasis, la vechi alunis
La picior da munte, pe dealuri marunte,
Prin plaiuri tacute, da vinturi batute,
Noaptea-n codrii ma apuca, codrilor le sunt naluca
Naluca purtata, din vechi vremi uitata.
Verde mugur brad da munte, pe dealuri marunte,
Cu plaiuri tacute, da vinturi suflate si da ploi udate,
Nedei si sintilii, iata, intre munti si deal, glas navalnic greu rasuna, din vazduh.
Pretutindeni 'ncet s-aduna, la foc; da sub clar da luna!
Hora apriga sa-ncinge, muntilor ii tie chinge,
Sa unesc, si-n tara asta, cea da dincolo o trec,
Tirg da dat. Da dind dai, muntelui pe loc te tai. Ii-esti!

[English 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!