La Grischa - Museum Regiunal Surselva

I waS wendIng my way
through the darkneSS of nIght
I was wending my way
through the darkness of night.
It was so dark that night
schneladibeladihopsasa
that not a stone was to be seen.
I went right to my true love’s door,
but locked is how I found it
and so I had to knock.
down they came, all three sisters.
the young one, the pretty one,
that one was my true love.
they took me upstairs to a table,
where food they gave me
and a tankard of wine.
they took me to the top of the house,
where I was to sleep, methinks,
but they hurled me through the shutters.
I landed on a stone,
breaking my right leg,
breaking it in twain.
when I rose to go again,
an old woman did I meet,
who pushed me out of the way.
oh god, if that’s what’s to befall me,
I’ll go off courting again,
definitely go off courting.
3
MinTGa sera cU JeU varGheL
Mintga sera cu jeu varghel
has ti aunc cazzola
tia guila cus’e cusa
launa e mangola
Forsa cusa ella era
siemis en las teilas
siemis giuvens che splenduran
sco vid tschiel las steilas
Forsa spetgas che jeu splunti
ina buna sera
fors’glischass lu ti’egliada
matg e primavera
sursilvan
m: Tumasch Dolf
t: Gian Fontana
arr: Albin Brun
every evenIng when I paSS by
every evening when I pass by,
your light’s still burning.
your needle is a-sewing
wool and cotton.
perhaps it stitches
dreams into the cloth as well,
glistening young dreams
like stars in the heavens.
perhaps you’re waiting for me to knock
one fine eve.
perhaps may and spring might then light up
when you behold them.