Fair beings dear to us, there on the Adamello
One day the Council of Trent ordered you all into exile
(Powerful exorcism the Council of Trent
Hostilely carried out!)
Mysterious arcane world that watches from the mountains
From exile it will descend so that with prosperity we meet
(It isn't yet the day of the Great Run
It is not the day)
The season cannot begin, if creative charm
Doesn't bring the whirl of the hurricane, ahead of the Run
If the Wind's Brides become agitated the hurricane will rise...
(Hear the dull roar of the thunder!
They are upset by their games)
And they pulled between the highest peaks an enchanted rope
One the rope they dance through the night
They dance between the crags
Mankind you will lose your wits if they dance around you...
(The year will end, and the Dance will have a beginning
The joyful Dance will begin...)
You are going to lose your wits