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 ilVERSiTYj i.;a 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924026878870 
 
FOLK-SONGS 
 OF BRITTANY 
 
 Songs for the lads of the Emerald Coast, 
 
 And you and me, 
 For all who sail in the gallant ships, ' 
 
 Or dwell by the sea — 
 Songs of the joys men had and lost. 
 
 That still shall be. 
 
 Cornell University Library 
 PB 2931.E9B74 
 
 " -" ^4 026 878 870 
 
FOLK-S O N G S 
 OF BRITTANY 
 
 Selections from TH:fioDORE Botrel's 
 CHANSONS DE LA VEILLEE witten in 
 English verse adapted to the original 
 Breton airs by Elizabeth S. Dickerman 
 
 <^ 
 
 The Tuttle, Morehouse & Taylor Company 
 New Haven, Conn. 
 
Copyright, igi8 
 
 BY 
 
 Elizabeth S. Dickerman 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Page 
 
 The Song of the Country i 
 
 The Golden Fleece 3 
 
 The Blacksmith 5 
 
 The Broken Thread 8 
 
 The Welcome of the Bells 10 
 
 The Legend of the Blue Nets 12 
 
 Bobosse 14 
 
 The Little Guardians of the Light 16 
 
 The Great Cradles 19 
 
 The Widow's Son 21 
 
 The Miser 23 
 
 We Have a Little Daughter 24 
 
 The Washerwomen 26 
 
 At the Shrine of St. Guirec 29 
 
 The Dance of the Korrigans 30 
 
 Against the Wind 32 
 
 The Derelict 34 
 
 The Watch , 36 
 
 On, Little Mate 38 
 
 The Sea Wind : .': 40 
 
 Sail, My Plough, Sail 42 
 
 Deep in the Woods 43 
 
 Chirp, Little Cricket 45 
 
 Like a Clock My Heart is Beating 47 
 
 The Erniine Robe 48 
 
 Mother Earth 5° 
 
 Ye Shepherds Gay 53 
 
 The Midnight Bells 54 
 
 A Christmas Lullaby 55 
 
 Sleep, Grandmamma Arvor 56 
 
THE SONG OF THE COUNTRY 
 
 'Twas on a February day, 
 
 With waves all gray. 
 The gallant little lad Tanguy 
 
 Would go to sea. 
 A captain's leave was quickly won. 
 Come on! 
 
 The fishing-boat sailed from the bay. 
 
 Rolling away. 
 For rolling not at all cared he, 
 
 Nor pitching sea. 
 Gaily he sang, the little son. 
 Roll on! 
 
 But one black night of storm, they say. 
 
 The brig gave way. 
 The sailors perished, all save he — 
 
 In pitching sea — 
 Left clinging to a spar alone. 
 Hold on! 
 
 And then there came a mermaid gay 
 
 To where he lay. 
 And clasped him in her arms with glee. 
 
 How lovely she! 
 She bore him home, a treasure won. 
 Her own! 
 
 Her palace 'neath the ocean gray 
 
 Was fair alway, 
 Decked with bright garlands of the sea. 
 
 The rolling sea. 
 Great fish, her guards, hither and yon 
 Swam on! 
 
He fell in love as sailors may. 
 
 All in a day, 
 And married her beneath the sea. 
 
 The pitching sea. 
 King of all oceans sailed upon, 
 Reign on ! 
 
 Sometimes on summer nights, men say, 
 
 He sings a lay, 
 Dreams of his home in Brittany 
 
 By rolling sea. 
 Chanting a sweet and mournful sone* 
 Alone. 
 
 The sailors hear his song and stay 
 
 Nor haste away. 
 Charmed to a grave beneath the sea. 
 
 The pitching sea — 
 Where we ourselves shall soon be gone, 
 Lured on! 
 
 So sweet to exiles is that lay 
 
 When far away. 
 The tender song of Brittany, 
 
 By rolling sea, 
 That one would die to hear its tone. 
 Sing on ! 
 
 * A Breton lyric. 
 
THE GOLDEN FLEECE 
 
 Do you remember Jeanne, 
 Neighbor in days of old. 
 With the great blue eyes 
 That were never bold — 
 Dear little shepherdess 
 With hair of burnished gold ? 
 
 When she returned alone 
 As twilight gathered gray, 
 The breezes caught her locks 
 In gentle play. 
 
 And the brightness on her head 
 Brought back the sunset gay. 
 
 Alas ! we shall see no more 
 The fairy who used to come. 
 This morn I found the maid 
 By her cottage home 
 With close cropped head 
 Like a boy or a little gnome. 
 
 "What false, unfriendly queen. 
 What Jason can it be. 
 That took thy golden fleece 
 Hanging royally, 
 Mantle imperial 
 That proudly covered thee?" 
 
 And the precious little soul 
 With clear, ingenuous eyes. 
 Said : "My hair, Madame, 
 Is not lost in any wise. 
 At the Pardon of Notre Dame 
 I sold it for a prize. 
 
"For all the winter long 
 Mother was very ill. 
 We had no money left 
 To pay the doctor's bill, 
 And the medicine he gave 
 Was even costlier still. 
 
 "So my shining golden fleece 
 At the Pardon I sold, 
 And the buyer counted out 
 Ten crowns of gold. 
 But — my promised one has fled 
 Who loved me of old. 
 
 "Yet for dear Mother's sake 
 I am still content !" 
 At the words the summer sun 
 Beams of splendor sent. 
 Made her curls an aureole 
 As of a saint. 
 
THE BLACKSMITH 
 
 My little forge is alight 
 Soon as the rising sun. 
 
 Strike on, on, on — 
 Strike hard on the anvil bright. 
 
 Ere the sexton's bell shall call. 
 Hear my hammer's ringing tone. 
 
 Ring on, on, on — 
 To the earliest mass of all. 
 
 Blow, bellows, a rhythmic tune 
 Like a giant piper alone, 
 
 Blow on, on, on — 
 My hammer shall dance to it soon. 
 
 Of workmen no need I feel, 
 For when his lessons are done. 
 
 On, on, on, on — 
 Hammers my little Emile. 
 
 Like a curly lamb is the boy 
 
 And sweet as the young Saint John- 
 
 But on, on, on — 
 Trust to him no fragile toy ! 
 
 For when he bends to the work. 
 Squarely his task is done. 
 
 'Tis on, on, on — 
 My laddie does not shirk ! 
 
 When horses dragged the teams 
 In the good, old days long gone, 
 
 'Twas on, on, on — • 
 Coppers rolled in like streams. 
 
Morning to eve, of course, 
 And after the day was done, 
 
 Men cried, "Come on! 
 Blacksmith, shoe my horse !" 
 
 From 'neath the smithy roof 
 An odor gladly known 
 Floated on, on, on — 
 The scent of the smoking hoof. 
 
 Alas ! the mechanics come 
 
 And the work of my life is gone. 
 
 Wait on, on, on — 
 There is nothing to do at home ! 
 
 The devil take a few 
 
 Of the trains going hither and yon. 
 
 Rushing on, on, on — 
 And the automobiles too ! 
 
 But hush ! no idle oath. 
 Good times may yet be won. 
 
 Hope on, on, on — 
 Saint Eloi guards us both. 
 
 Horses men need and wheels 
 To draw each heavy gun 
 
 On, on, on, on — 
 And the broken automobiles ! 
 
 Where the white-hot anvils sound, 
 Our ancestors, little son, 
 Worked on, on, on — 
 Their masters could not be found. 
 
 Their trade shall still be ours. 
 A better is not known. 
 Work on, on, on — ■ 
 'Tis worthy all our powers. 
 
For Life seems good to me, 
 Though rude, as many own. 
 
 She goes on, on, on — ■ 
 The greatest Blacksmith she ! 
 
 'Neath the leathern apron at night 
 Hast hunger too often known ? 
 
 Work on, on, on— 
 And draw the belt more tight. 
 
 Contented and free from hate. 
 Wait for the set of sun, 
 
 Singing on, on, on — 
 Till the hour come — soon or late. 
 
 When we go — He has promised true- 
 To Jesus, God's little Son, 
 And work on, on, on — 
 His little ass to shoe ! 
 
 And the stars of heaven flash soon 
 As our blows fall one by one. 
 
 Shine on, on, on — 
 And the quarters of the moon ! 
 
THE BROKEN THREAD 
 
 Yesterday I sought the mill, 
 
 Found Annetta spinning. 
 Gallantly I turned her wheel, 
 
 Thus my suit beginning. 
 Watched her little distaflf move 
 
 To the humming sound. 
 Thinking of my secret love, 
 
 As the v^rheel went round. 
 
 "Little maid with golden hair," 
 
 I will whisper clearly, 
 "Fairer than all others are, 
 
 Know, I love thee dearly." 
 One more turn the wheel shall move, 
 
 Whirring, whirring round. 
 Then I'll tell my secret love 
 
 To its humming sound. 
 
 I will say: "I love thine eyes, 
 
 Blue as periwinkles. 
 'Neath thy coif one sees the skies 
 
 And the sunlight twinkles." 
 One more turn the wheel shall move. 
 
 Whirring, whirring round. 
 Then I'll tell my secret love 
 
 To its humming sound. 
 
 I will tell her : "Dearest heart, 
 
 Modest though my merit. 
 Yet I love thy gentle art 
 
 And thy candid spirit." 
 One more turn the wheel shall move, 
 
 Whirring, whirring round. 
 Then I'll tell my secret love 
 
 To its humming sound. 
 
I will tell her: "If thou will, 
 
 Be my fiancee, 
 They shall ring our wedding bell 
 
 After Christmas day." 
 One last turn the wheel shall move, 
 
 Whirring, whirring round. 
 Then I'll tell my secret love 
 
 To its humming sound. 
 
 I will tell her all my care, 
 
 All my thoughts unspoken — ■ 
 But I turned the wheel too far 
 
 And the thread was broken. 
 For the last turn of the lap, 
 
 Whirring, whirring round, 
 I received a stinging slap. 
 
 Heard a humming sound. 
 
 When I saw the pretty thing 
 
 Acting thus unkindly. 
 Like a devil did I spring, 
 
 Sought the door behind me. 
 Taking — Thank you, wheel, enow. 
 
 Whirring, whirring roimd — 
 Both my secret and the blow 
 
 And the humming sound. 
 
 Happiness, as men have said. 
 
 In full many a dwelling, 
 Hangs but by a single thread. 
 
 Listen to my telling. 
 Ere the secret hers you make. 
 
 All on bended knee. 
 Turn the wheel, the thread will break, 
 
 And you still are free. 
 
THE WELCOME OF THE BELLS 
 
 Yon I see my village tower 
 In the darkening shadow. 
 
 Looking for me every hour 
 Over hill and meadow. 
 
 Yonder is my village tower 
 
 Looking for me every hour. 
 
 All at once it sees me come. 
 Hears my laughter ringing, 
 
 Knows me glad to be at home, 
 Running, madly singing. 
 
 All at once it sees me come. 
 
 Singing, glad to be at home. 
 
 All the bells will ring in turn. 
 Chiming from the steeple 
 
 Tidings of my glad return 
 To the friendly people. 
 
 All the bells will ring in turn 
 
 Tidings of my glad return. 
 
 "This is Yann of Ker-Yvon, 
 (Hear them ringing faster) 
 Who a sailor-boy had gone 
 And returns the master. 
 This is Yann of Ker-Yvon 
 Who, a sailor-boy, had gone. 
 
 "On his bosom swelling high 
 What is fluttering bravely ?" 
 
 " 'Tis her ribbon that doth fly, 
 Colors that she gave me !" 
 On his bosom swelling high 
 Do a maiden's ribbons fly. 
 
 "Round the world in storm and shine. 
 Wind and wintry weather. 
 
Thinking of this love of thine 
 
 And the walks together. 
 Round the world in storm and shine, 
 Thinking of this love of thine. 
 
 "Now at last the glad return 
 Home to wed the beauty. 
 
 All for thee her heart doth burn, 
 All to her thy duty. 
 
 Now at last the glad return. 
 
 All for thee her heart doth burn. 
 
 "What a wedding there shall be ! 
 
 Welcome overflowing! 
 All the countryside must see, 
 
 Rich and poor are going. 
 What a wedding there shall be ! 
 All the countryside will see." 
 
 Sweet bells chiming pleasantly 
 
 From the lacy tower — 
 This the song they sing to me 
 
 At the evening hour. 
 Sweet bells chiming pleasantly. 
 This the song they sing to me. 
 
 Little promised one, now come. 
 
 Come, good friends and nearest. 
 Drink we to our village home. 
 
 Of the world the dearest. 
 Come, my little maiden, come. 
 Long may live our village home. 
 
 Sweet to labor, dear, by thee, 
 
 All my wanderings over. 
 Then to die in Brittany, 
 
 Still thy faithful lover; 
 Growing older, dear, by thee. 
 Fall asleep in Brittany. 
 
THE LEGEND OF THE BLUE NETS 
 
 To a little town where the seabirds wing, 
 
 Yann Konkarno, the little pet. 
 Came on a rosy eve of spring, 
 
 Born on a heap of fishing-net. 
 
 His mother, to rock the child to sleep, 
 Made him a hammock nice and new. 
 
 Made it cosy and soft and deep, 
 Out of a bit of the netting blue. 
 
 Never a blanket or crib had he, 
 
 But his slumbers were sweeter and sounder too 
 For having hollowed his nest in glee 
 
 In the soft mesh of the netting blue. 
 
 At night he said a little prayer. 
 
 Straight from his heart to heaven it flew. 
 "Virgin Mary, O Mother fair, 
 
 Bless, I pray thee, the fish-nets blue." 
 
 When his father, upon the pier, 
 
 Lingered to talk with a fishing-crew. 
 
 The little son ran quickly near 
 
 And gathered an armful of fish-nets blue. 
 
 Bearing them home to the little cot. 
 
 He hung them out where the light wind blew. 
 
 Helping him find each broken knot. 
 As he deftly mended the fish-nets blue. 
 
 At twelve, grown straight as a little tree. 
 Strong and i active and eager too — 
 
 As a sailor-boy he went to sea 
 
 With a fleet that carried the fish-nets blue. 
 
He laid the nets for the Httle fish 
 With the older sailors of the crew, 
 
 Ran to aid them at every wish, 
 And worked upon the fish-nets blue. 
 
 But his fishing-vessel "The Marie" 
 
 Sailing as she was wont to do. 
 Was caught one night by the raging sea 
 
 Like a little fish in a netting blue. 
 
 When the stars were shining clear and bright, 
 God saw it and told the Virgin, who 
 
 Picked up the lad in her veil so light. 
 Just like a fish-net, soft and blue. 
 
 They found him sleeping upon the sand. 
 In her mystic veils, all sweet with dew. 
 
 After dreams too lovely to understand. 
 All in the midst of the fish-nets blue. 
 
 "I dreamed," he said, "that my mother dear 
 And the poor rheumatic father too. 
 
 Should nevermore know pain or fear. 
 Thanks to the blessed netting blue." 
 
 Since then. Madonna's humble friend. 
 Working and praying as sailors do. 
 
 Has had draughts of fishes without end, 
 Almost to breaking his nets of blue. 
 
 13 
 
BOBOSSE 
 
 All round and pink the babe was born, 
 But on the happy christening morn, 
 Some ugly fairy, old and cross. 
 Was quite forgot, who angrily 
 Gave the poor child a hump, you see. 
 So that men called the boy Bobosse, 
 Little Bobosse. 
 
 When but a four-year-old, he guessed 
 That he was different from the rest 
 And asked his mother : "Tell me why 
 I am not strong and straight as they. 
 The little boys across the way? 
 For they. Mamma, are not as I, 
 Are not as I." 
 
 His mother, weeping in her heart, 
 Comforted him with gentle art 
 And told him strange and wondrous things. 
 "Weep not. To fly to heaven so. 
 White little wings begin to grow — 
 My darhng baby, angels' wings. 
 Yes, angels' wings." 
 
 The while he grew, he sometimes sought 
 A reason in his childish thought. 
 And thus the boyish logic ran : 
 "It would be lovely by-and-by 
 To be an angel in the sky, 
 But here I'd like to be a man, 
 A Httle man." 
 
 14 
 
At sixteen years it was his lot 
 To love a maid who loved him not 
 But mocked his suit all heartlessly. 
 With bitter anguish swelled his heart 
 Until it seemed to be a part 
 Of that, his sad deformity. 
 So hurt was he. 
 
 Sadly he mourned and suffered so 
 That Death had pity on his woe 
 And took him from the bitter scene. 
 Lo, at his death, a prodigy ! 
 The hump was gone mysteriously. 
 A wondrous miracle had been, 
 A miracle ! 
 
 Poor mother with the sorrowing heart. 
 Thy lad is happy for his part. 
 Be calm and cease thy raurmurings. 
 As once thou saidst in days gone by, 
 Bobosse has flown into the sky. 
 Spreading at last his angels' wings, 
 His snow-white wings. 
 
 IS 
 
THE LITTLE GUARDIANS OF THE LIGHT 
 
 Between the sea and heaven bright, 
 
 High in his Hghthouse tower. 
 The keeper staggers at his light. 
 
 What ails him at this hour? 
 Man of the light. 
 
 What ails thee at this hour? 
 
 All spent with pain, he goes below 
 
 And falls before his wife. 
 "Alas for us ! My doom I know. 
 
 Slipping away from life. 
 My doom I know. 
 
 Slipping away from life." 
 
 On the lone isle where billows rise 
 And break with threatening roar, 
 
 In his great bed the keeper lies, 
 Among his children four. 
 
 All still he lies 
 Among his children four. 
 
 At eve Death took the father dear, 
 
 Despite his rugged stamp. 
 "Mamma," they cried, "the night is here 
 
 And we must light the lamp. 
 The night is here 
 
 And we must light the lamp." 
 
 The widow closed her husband's eyes 
 
 There in the darkened room. 
 Opened the giant Eye that tries 
 
 To pierce the outer gloom. 
 The Eye that tries 
 
 To pierce the outer gloom. 
 
 i6 
 
And when the Ught would clearly burn, 
 
 Came down and knelt to pray. 
 "Mamma, Mamma, it does not turn 
 
 In quite the usual way. 
 It does not turn 
 
 And light up all the bay. 
 
 "Alas ! This morn did Father try 
 
 To mend the great machine. 
 Nor put it back till Death came by 
 
 And snatched him from the scene, 
 Till Death came by 
 
 And snatched him from the scene. 
 
 "But if the night-wind rises high 
 
 With the tide upon our coast. 
 The fishing-boats that wander by 
 
 Sweep shoreward and are lost. 
 They wander by. 
 
 Sweep shoreward and are lost." 
 
 "Up to the light," she cried, "my sons. 
 Though sorrow is in our home. 
 
 Lend me your arms, my little ones. 
 To turn till morning come. 
 
 Turn, little ones, 
 Until the morning come." 
 
 And the children turned it through the night, 
 
 All in the darkness deep. 
 "Barefoot, noiseless, turn the light 
 
 And let our father sleep. 
 We turn the light 
 
 To let our father sleep." 
 
 17 
 
Then when at last the sky grew gray 
 
 And calm was the restless sea, 
 To their father's side they crept away 
 
 And slumbered quietly. 
 They crept away 
 
 And slumbered quietly. 
 
 All safe in port the vessels lay 
 
 Or on the waves did ride, 
 And a smile on the dead man's lips, they say, 
 
 Told of the father's pride. 
 His smile, they say. 
 
 Told of the father's pride. 
 
 Little sons of Brittany, never a fear 
 In our hearts, and never a doubt. 
 
 The sacred light you are guarding here 
 Shall not waver nor go out. 
 
 Since you guard it here. 
 That light shall not go out. 
 
 i8 
 
THE GREAT CRADLES 
 
 Formerly when little lads, 
 In our cradles very small, 
 What good naps we used to have 
 Near the great beds in the wall! 
 Now the deep blue sea has called, 
 Taken us from home away. 
 Our three-masters on the sea 
 Rock — like giant cradles they ! 
 Lull our cares to sleep. 
 Rocking constantly. 
 Cradles of the deep 
 Bound for farthest sea. 
 Each poor sailor-lad. 
 Homesick for his folk — 
 Cradle of strong oak, 
 Rock, and make him glad ! 
 
 Proud three-master at the dock, 
 Noble ship, the reefs beware! 
 For some sailor-boys perchance 
 You may be the casket there, 
 When the rocks with ragged edge 
 Savagely shall rend the side, 
 And the cradle sink below 
 Gently on the ocean wide. 
 
 Rock us tenderly. 
 
 Cradles of renown. 
 
 When into the sea 
 
 Bravely we go down. 
 
 May our dreams so deep 
 
 Have no waking more ! 
 
 Far from Breton shore 
 
 Rock us off to sleep. 
 
 19 
 
Lo, full many weeks have passed, 
 Many months have rolled away, 
 While within the hollow ships 
 We were rocked to sleep each day. 
 Favoring winds have sped us on, 
 Brittany is very near. 
 Soon the sweetness of the land 
 And its wheatfields shall appear. 
 
 Cradle now our hope. 
 
 Dreamers that you be. 
 
 Lo, the shining slope 
 
 Of our hills we see. 
 
 Loves for whom we yearn 
 
 Are more near than seems. 
 
 Cradles of our dreams. 
 
 Give a glad return! 
 
 30 
 
THE WIDOW'S SON 
 
 Far on the melancholy cliff 
 
 Where the wild seagulls cry, 
 Facing an endless watery waste 
 
 Where meet the sea and sky, 
 The widow chose a little cot 
 
 From whence, each passing day. 
 She sees the murderous sea that took 
 
 Husband and sons away. 
 
 Beside her in the barren room. 
 
 Upon a seaweed bed, 
 Lies little Joseph fast asleep. 
 
 He of the flaxen head. 
 Soundly he slumbers all the night. 
 
 The last of all her fold. 
 Strong as a little man is he 
 
 Though but a ten-year-old. 
 
 To stamp upon his youthful heart 
 
 The terror of the wave, 
 The widow chose to dwell apart 
 
 Where the wild waters rave. 
 When the swift tide, covering the sand. 
 
 Hurls at the cliff its power — 
 Regardless of his childish dreams. 
 
 She wakes him at that hour. 
 
 "Come out into the tempest now 
 
 And hear the ocean roar. 
 The savage, cruel beast that moans 
 
 And hungers evermore. 
 Down in this faithless, hateful sea 
 
 Thy father's body lies." 
 But the boy answers timidly. 
 
 "How beautiful !" he sighs. 
 
"Nay, hark not to her siren voice,' 
 
 She says in whisper low. 
 "In ways one cannot understand 
 
 She lures men on to woe. 
 With her deceitful, elfish ways 
 
 She won thy brothers true." 
 The widow's son mused silently: 
 
 "Soon I am going too." 
 
THE MISER 
 
 To fill his woolen sock with gold, 
 
 The miser night and day, they tell, 
 Lived but on meagre crusts of bread. 
 
 Drank water from the village well. 
 Now he is rich, and well may buy 
 
 The finest bread fresh made of wheat. 
 But for the dainty long put by. 
 
 He has no teeth with which to eat ! 
 
 Like an old wolf in lonely cave. 
 
 He lived all comfortless, and lay 
 On the hard ground, nor did he have 
 
 Aught but a scanty bed of hay. 
 Now that his aged form may lie 
 
 In a fine bed built in the wall, 
 Wild nightmares wake him constantly. 
 
 The miser has no rest at all. 
 
 No wife had he, nor daughter fair. 
 
 No son to stir a father's pride; 
 His only love, gold coins that shine. 
 
 His hope, to lay the gold aside. 
 In vain Love knocks upon his door 
 
 And seeks his stony heart to move. 
 Nothing can ever charm him more. 
 
 His heart is dead. He cannot love. 
 
 He cursed the poor that begged for aid. 
 
 Nor to the old had succor given. 
 No prayers call blessings on his head. 
 
 Nor shall his soul go up to heaven. 
 Among his piles of yellow gold 
 
 Poorest of all to-day is he. 
 Friends, let us live, give alms, and love, 
 
 Happier and richer men to be. 
 
 23 
 
WE HAVE A LITTLE DAUGHTER 
 
 We have a little daughter, 
 
 Youp la la larira, 
 What gallant lad has sought her ! 
 Youp la la larira, 
 And straight his suit began ! 
 Marry your lad whene'er you will, 
 Your daughter when you can! 
 
 Of sailor lads full many, 
 
 Youp la la larira. 
 But very rich, not any ! 
 Youp la la larira. 
 And very cautious they ! 
 Marry your lad whene'er you will, 
 Your daughter when you may! 
 
 And yet — poor, little daughter, 
 
 Youp la la larira. 
 How gently we have taught her ! 
 Youp la la larira, 
 A prize for any man ! 
 Marry your lad whene'er you will. 
 Your daughter vuhen you can! 
 
 Sweet is the maid and pretty, 
 
 Youp la la larira. 
 Industrious. 'Tis pity — 
 Youp la la larira. 
 That she the bills must pay! 
 Marry your lad whene'er you will. 
 Your daughter when you may! 
 
 24 
 
A husband — ^Am I dreaming? 
 
 Youp la la larira 
 On strike? Yes, to all seeming, 
 Youp la la larira 
 Will organize to-day. 
 Marry your lad whene'er you will, 
 Your daughter when you may! 
 
 But when I saw her mother, 
 
 Youp la la larira 
 I waited for no other. 
 Youp la la larira. 
 "Wilt thou? I will! Away!" 
 Marry your lad whene'er you will, 
 Your daughter when you may! 
 
 Nay, stay a maid, Marie! 
 
 Youp la la larira. 
 We'll have no lottery 
 Youp la la larira. 
 Nor any market-day I 
 Marry your lad whene'er you will, 
 Your daughter when you may! 
 
 25 
 
THE WASHERWOMEN 
 
 Crouched down upon the rock 
 Our washerwomen be, 
 
 As if to say their prayers 
 On lowly bended knee. 
 
 But oh, the frightful words we hear 
 
 Are for the Evil One, I fear. 
 Beat on the linen, beat! 
 The gossip's idle tongue 
 Clatters away more fleet 
 As they beat — more fleet 
 Than the washing goes along. 
 
 One says : "Oh, have you seen 
 The Hnen of Madame Kostel, 
 
 Lace-trimmed like an altarpiece 
 And very fine as well? 
 
 The Baron, I suppose. 
 
 The cost of this splendor knows." 
 Beat on the linen, beat ! 
 The gossip's idle tongue 
 Clatters away more fleet 
 As they beat — more fleet 
 Than the washing goes along. 
 
 Another cries : "Now see ! 
 
 Madame's new chemise admire. 
 With finest broidery 
 
 Like the carving on a spire. 
 As the tower lets in the light. 
 So, I think, this cut-work might !" 
 
 26 
 
Beat on the linen, beat! 
 The gossip's idle tongue 
 Clatters away more fleet 
 As they beat — more fleet 
 Than the washing goes along. 
 
 Then another : "Have you heard 
 That Jeanne has no trousseau? 
 
 But she will marry that fool Yvon 
 Soon, as we all must know. 
 
 They even say that secretly 
 
 She works on babies' lingerie !" 
 Beat on the linen, beat! 
 The gossip's idle tongue 
 Clatters away more fleet 
 As they beat — more fleet 
 Than the washing goes along. 
 
 "Why," said an ancient dame, 
 "Does the owner of Gray Mill 
 
 Leave his wife quite alone 
 To sell mouldy grain at will ? 
 
 She pays for a drink. Oh yes ! 
 
 And the buyer does not guess." 
 Beat on the linen, beat ! 
 The gossip's idle tongue 
 Clatters away more fleet 
 As they beat — more fleet 
 Than the washing goes along. 
 
 "Do you know why Marie Rose, 
 
 Wife of the sailor Joe, 
 Goes visiting every night? 
 
 Well, all the neighbors know. 
 Her wood and candle-ends 
 She is saving up, my friends !" 
 
 27 
 
Beat on the linen, beat! 
 The gossip's idle tongue 
 Clatters away more fleet 
 As they beat — more fleet 
 Than the washing goes along. 
 
 Take care, unhappy ones. 
 That laugh maliciously. 
 
 Death's laundresses, I fear 
 That some day you will be ! 
 
 Washing nightly by the spring 
 
 Where you now sit gossiping. 
 Beat on the linen, beat! 
 When Death shall come along, 
 You may hear him on the street, 
 Rap, rap, rap ! more fleet 
 Than the washer or her tongue ! 
 
 28 
 
AT THE SHRINE OF ST. GUIREC 
 
 Near the long beach which reaches 
 
 Far on to Tregastel, 
 An altar stands, and a chapel 
 
 To St. Guirec as well. 
 And there the maidens, going 
 
 To play a tender part, 
 Stick pins both sharp and shining 
 
 In the old saint's heart. 
 The lad for whom I'm sighing 
 
 Has heart as hard to break 
 As the oaken heart they're trying 
 
 Of Monsieur St. Guirec. 
 
 Last Sunday I was pinning 
 
 My coif of snowy white 
 And my fine embroidered apron 
 
 With steel pins new and bright. 
 And each pin fell from my fingers 
 
 Swiftly as they did move, 
 As at the feet of my lover 
 
 Falls my poor, slighted love. 
 The lad for whom I'm sighing 
 
 Has heart as hard to break 
 As the oaken heart they're trying 
 
 Of Monsieur St. Guirec. 
 
 But, my alarm beholding, 
 
 (Wonderful to relate) 
 Four bloody tears fell softly 
 
 From the heart compassionate. 
 The pin I drew out bleeding 
 
 Through some miraculous art, 
 The forgetful one shall feel it, 
 
 Piercing his hardened heart. 
 And I shall see unsighing 
 
 If his heart is more hard to break 
 Than the oaken heart they're trying 
 
 Of Monsieur St. Guirec. 
 
 29 
 
THE DANCE OF THE KORRIGANS 
 
 On the sanddunes lone and gray 
 Calm profound, 
 
 Till one churchbell far away 
 
 The midnight hour shall sound. 
 
 Then upon the stillness deep 
 Breaks a fearsome din. 
 
 Bretons, hark! The Korrigans 
 Now their dance begin. 
 Down by the sanddunes gray 
 Where the purple gorse doth grow, 
 In moonlight clear as day 
 The Korrigans lightly go, 
 Circling, dancing to and fro, 
 Where the purple gorse doth grow. 
 
 Satan, the angel of sin, 
 
 All in flame. 
 Would the strange dance begin. 
 Blaspheming the good God's name, 
 When the golden-haired Annik, 
 
 Seeking her lover gone. 
 Came on the dancing elves, 
 Lost in their maze alone. 
 
 Down by the sanddunes gray 
 Where the purple gorse doth grow, 
 In moonlight clear as day. 
 The Korrigans lightly go. 
 Circling, dancing to and fro. 
 Where the purple gorse doth grow. 
 
 30 
 
And the dancers swept her away 
 In their ring. 
 
 She was mad at the dawn of day. 
 
 Alas ! the innocent thing ! 
 
 Close your cottage doors at night, 
 Maidens of Brittany. 
 
 Nor go when the moon shines bright 
 To the lover you long to see. 
 
 For down by the sanddunes gray, 
 Where the purple gorse doth grow. 
 In moonlight clear as day, 
 The Korrigans lightly go. 
 Circling, dancing to and fro. 
 Where the purple gorse doth grow ! 
 
 31 
 
AGAINST THE WIND 
 
 When sailors go a-fishing 
 
 For haddock or for sole, 
 The mast and sail are wishing 
 
 Strong wind to reach the goal. 
 But when we sail with favoring breeze, 
 How very often we come back 
 
 By many a tack 
 
 On stormy seas ! 
 
 Hardly the boat is going, 
 
 We beat against the wind. 
 And hope by steady rowing 
 
 A little gain to find. 
 Hard lead ! my mate. The moment seize. 
 How very slowly we come back. 
 
 With many a tack 
 
 On stormy seas ! 
 
 At last we reach the landing, 
 
 Then make her fast, and go. 
 With other sailors standing. 
 
 To take a drink or so. 
 A sparkling glass of cider, please! 
 Alack, the keeper's wife is here. 
 
 With eye severe! 
 
 More stormy seas ! 
 
 Naught cares he for the weather 
 
 Who sails upon the main. 
 Bending before it, rather 
 
 Lets pass the hurricane. 
 A saucy kiss the wench will please. 
 Then for the cider straight come back. 
 
 Another tack 
 
 And favoring seas. 
 
 32 
 
Beside the sea or in it, 
 
 It is the sailor's pride 
 To vanquish in a minute 
 
 Wind, Woman, and the Tide. 
 On sea or land, whate'er the breeze, 
 'Tis often needful to come back 
 
 By skilful tack 
 
 O'er stormy seas. 
 
 33 
 
THE DERELICT 
 
 Toward the treacherous coast, 
 Where Love's kingdom lay, 
 My heart, madly lost. 
 
 Steered its course one day. 
 My heart, gone astray. 
 Has lost its way. 
 
 On the Sea of Dreams, 
 In the morning gray, 
 From the shore it seems 
 Vanished quite away. 
 My heart, gone astray. 
 Has lost its way. 
 
 No helm nor sail of white 
 
 Nor a pilot. Nay, 
 Not a star for light 
 At the close of day. 
 My heart, gone astray. 
 Has lost its way. 
 
 Sailor, quickly speak! 
 Hast thou seen it, say! 
 Where the billows break. 
 Wrecked and cast away? 
 
 My heart, gone astray. 
 
 Has lost its way. 
 
 Gather up each spar 
 
 Floating in the bay. 
 Take them all to her 
 
 Who thought that love was play. 
 My heart, gone astray. 
 Has lost its way. 
 
 34 
 
Say : "On seas remote 
 
 Where my journey lay, 
 I found this wreck afloat 
 
 With your name painted gay. 
 This heart, gone astray, 
 Has lost its way." 
 
 ^S 
 
THE WATCH 
 
 High on the mast of our poor wreck, 
 
 Watchman, Ahoy ! Art still alive ? 
 
 / cannot die and leave the ship 
 
 While she with wind and wave must strive. 
 
 Watchman, Ahoy ! Gray morning comes. 
 At nightfall shall we still be here ? 
 Hope, shipwrecked comrades, to the end. 
 Have courage all. Be of good cheer! 
 
 Watchman, Ahoy ! The light has come. 
 Canst see beyond the winds that blow ? 
 Naught can I see hut drifting fog 
 And the great waves that roll below. 
 
 Watchman, Ahoy! Is that the shore 
 Rising upon the windward side? 
 / only see the billows break, 
 Increasing with the rising tide. 
 
 Watchman, dost see no cliff arise 
 On the horizon, far along? 
 Naught see I but the tidal wave. 
 Hear but the sea's exulting song. 
 
 Seest not, emerging from the gloom. 
 White flocks that feed in pastures green? 
 The white waves leaping on the sea 
 Are all the sheep that I have seen. 
 
 Watchman, alas ! The end is near. 
 Come down, that we together die! 
 Hark! comrades, for a bell rings clear. 
 Down on your knees. To Heaven cry. 
 
 56 
 
Good Watchman, we have said our prayer. 
 Seest nothing cheering at tliis hour? 
 Hail, yonder rising in the light 
 The pointed finger of a tower! 
 
 'I 
 
 Can it be Spain or Africa 
 
 That the mad wind has driven us by? 
 
 The bell-tower is in Brittany 
 
 And o'er it smiles an azure sky. 
 
 Thanks, lad. Thy vigil now is o'er. 
 Watchman, Ahoy! Leave now thy mast. 
 Alas ! he spoke no answering word. 
 His task was done, his mission past. 
 
 They climbed aloft to bring him down, 
 And lifeless found the Breton boy. 
 Stiff with the hunger and the cold — 
 But sailors say he died of joy. 
 
 Watchman, a noble end was thine. 
 Thrice happy he of whom they tell : 
 He died the bearer of good news. 
 Having done all his duty well. 
 
 37 
 
ON, LITTLE MATE 
 
 Throughout our France, in every part. 
 Thousands of httle lads there be. 
 Who have one cherished hope at heart. 
 To be a sailor free. 
 
 On, little mate! 
 
 Grow strong and straight 
 
 As the tall poplar tree. 
 
 Learn first at school right willingly. 
 
 Then thou shalt go to sea. 
 
 Swift runs the lad when school is o'er, 
 Down to the waterside — 
 All thoughts of lessons left ashore — 
 To his boat on the flowing tide. 
 
 On, little mate ! 
 
 Early and late 
 
 Paddle about in glee. 
 
 Wilt steer the vessel skilfully 
 
 When thou shalt go to sea. 
 
 All summer long he roams about 
 From rise to set of sun 
 And finds the sweetest apples out 
 That ripen one by one. 
 
 On, little mate! 
 
 And do not wait 
 
 But climb the apple tree. 
 
 The topmast thou'lt cHmb easily 
 
 When thou shalt go to sea. 
 
 They take the apples to the mill 
 And the cider flows forth sweet. 
 The boy holds forth his bowl to fill 
 Like a sailor of the fleet. 
 
 38 
 
On, little mate! 
 And drink it straight. 
 The cider flowing free; 
 But alcohol shun warily 
 If thou wilt go to sea. 
 
 And so the lad to an age will come 
 To sail on a fishing-boat. 
 He must leave Mamma and the village home 
 For a wider life afloat. 
 
 On, little mate! 
 
 Nor hesitate 
 
 When she says Goodby to thee. 
 
 And, lest thou weep, sing manfully 
 
 When thou shalt go to sea. 
 
 On the Brittany thou shalt gain the skill 
 And the strength to make thee bold. 
 In the high wind bend thy form at will 
 Like the fearless Gauls of old. 
 
 On, Httle mate! 
 
 Nor fear stern fate. 
 
 Work hard and thou shalt be 
 
 Watcher and sailsman speedily, 
 
 Then fire the guns at sea. 
 
 Ever within thy breast shall beat 
 A loyal heart and strong. 
 Be the honor of our country's fleet 
 Sweeter than living long. 
 
 On, little mate! 
 
 Though danger wait. 
 
 France calls her children free. 
 
 Return not to thy family 
 
 Till thou win her praise at sea. 
 
 39 
 
THE SEA WIND 
 
 On a November night, three women sitting lonely 
 Around a fire of gorse, watching each dying spark, 
 Heard voices all about, murmuring, whispering only, 
 Or weeping in the night out in the dark. 
 
 The Sea Wind howls before the door. 
 
 How grave it is, and sad and sweet ! 
 Is it Goodby said o'er and o'er. 
 
 From some dead sailor with the fleet ? 
 
 "Is it my husband," Grandma says. 
 "He told me when he sailed away: 
 'This trip shall be the last for me.' 
 Was this the truth he told that day ? 
 Ah, be it he who wakes me now. 
 Great Ocean Wind, turn thy fierce breath 
 Northward and say his mourning Gaud 
 Will join her husband soon in death." 
 
 "Nay, 'tis my man," the mother says. 
 
 "I hear his voice upon the blast, 
 
 Asking a cross beside the wall 
 
 To say the fisher's life has passed. 
 
 If 'tis the voice of Jean Pierre, 
 
 Oh, let us quickly kneel and pray, 
 
 That the strong wind may take the words 
 
 To the dear lost one far away." 
 
 " 'Tis my Yannik," the maiden cries, 
 "My promised one, the lad who went 
 As cabin-boy upon the ship 
 Bound for the farthest Orient. 
 
 40 
 
Tell him, great Wind, that his Jeannette 
 Knows he is dead, and weeps and prays, 
 Vowing to live a cloistered nun 
 And love but God through all her days." 
 
 So each one thought herself alone 
 To know the voices as they pass. 
 Maid, mother, granddame — all alike. 
 But oh, all three were right, alas ! 
 For on that night the greedy Sea 
 Took three brave sailors unaware, 
 One on the Banks, off Iceland one, 
 The other, God knows where! 
 
 The Sea Wind howls before the door. 
 
 How grave it is cind sad and sweet ! 
 The last Goodby it whispers o'er. 
 
 From some dead sailor of the fleet. 
 
 41 
 
SAIL, MY PLOUGH, SAIL 
 
 All secrets well I know, which the deep sea doth keep, 
 No mystery I find in any life ashore. 
 The furrow, is it not a wave of earth? Nay more. 
 Is not the crested wave the furrow of the deep? 
 
 On the sea afloat. 
 Over hill and dale. 
 Plough, my gallant boat. 
 Sail, my plough, sail! 
 
 The earth and ocean too would be of men adored. 
 After my prayers to God, I pray to them each day. 
 My nets are full of fish, my barns of grain and hay, 
 Of shining, silver fish, of golden grain a hoard. 
 
 On the sea afloat. 
 Over hill and dale. 
 Plough, my gallant boat. 
 Sail, my plough, sail ! 
 
 My life is for them both, and to them both I cling. 
 Will Earth take me at last? Or will the ocean deep? 
 To rock my lonely dream into a peaceful sleep 
 Earth will be soft and sweet and Ocean waves will sing. 
 
 On the sea afloat. 
 Over hill and dale, 
 Plough, my gallant boat, 
 Sail, my plough, sail ! 
 
 42 
 
DEEP IN THE WOODS 
 
 When I was but a little lad, 
 
 I loved the woodland way, 
 And to the heart of forests deep 
 
 I often used to stray. 
 Deep in the woods 'tis sweet, sweet, sweet, 
 
 To dream the time away. 
 
 There full of gladness I would hear 
 
 The birds' soft twittering, 
 For hoiurs together try to learn 
 
 How little thrushes sing. 
 Deep in the woods 'tis gay, gay, gay. 
 
 To whistle in the spring. 
 
 Young Madelon, not fearing wolves. 
 
 Would often come with me. 
 Her auburn hair and eyes of green 
 
 Shone very pleasantly. 
 Deep in the woods 'tis sweet, sweet, sweet, 
 
 To have a maid with thee. 
 
 One summer eve with tender word 
 
 I kissed her on the brow. 
 We promised to be lovers true 
 
 With many a faithful vow. 
 "Deep in the woods," we said, "how sweet 
 
 To love as we do now !" 
 
 And then I went away to sea 
 
 In service to the state. 
 Three years passed by and I was free 
 
 Nor longer had to wait. 
 Deep in the woods 'tis gay, gay, gay. 
 
 To find one's little mate ! 
 
 43 
 
Alas ! the bell was tolling slow 
 With mournful note and deep. 
 
 The neighbors laid my love away 
 In the last solemn sleep. 
 
 Deep in the woods 'tis sweet, sweet, sweet, 
 To go away and weep ! 
 
 44 
 
CHIRP, LITTLE CRICKET 
 
 Soon as the fireplace is alight 
 
 We hear a sound of cheerful mirth, 
 
 Though dark without descends the night, 
 
 From the gay spirit of the hearth. 
 
 In the red firelight, to all seeming. 
 
 Soul of the oak and gorse is he. 
 Chirp, little cricket, while we're dreaming. 
 We love thy song in the firelight gleaming, 
 
 Bringer of happiness and glee. 
 
 Chirp, little cricket, cheerily. 
 
 Black little faun of the ancient days. 
 Nestling down in the furrows deep, 
 Blow on thy pipes in the rustic ways 
 From morn to eve without rest or sleep. 
 But when one moves to the far off city. 
 
 Leaving the furrow carelessly. 
 Weep, little cricket, full of pity. 
 "The barns might be full" — be this thy ditty — 
 
 "But who will harvest the grain to be ?" 
 
 Weep, little cricket, mournfully. 
 
 Out from a chink of a dingy wall 
 On the outskirts drear of a city fine. 
 To the haggard exile, chirping all 
 The sorrows which are his and thine. 
 Say to him: "All this servile labor 
 
 Bows both the head and the soul once free." 
 Grind thy tune in his ear, little neighbor. 
 Though the hateful couplets are thankless labor 
 
 And choke like a gag thy notes of glee. 
 
 Grind, little cricket, ceaselessly.- 
 
 45 
 
Long live thy song in the hearts of men, 
 Bard of the city and the field. 
 For the song of hate with its savage strain, 
 Give a song of brotherhood saved and healed. 
 May thy music bring its message cheering 
 
 To hearts made sour by calamity. 
 Dream, little cricket, of France, that hearing 
 The people may hope and love unfearing. 
 
 Dream and sing of the days to be. 
 
 Chirp, little cricket, cheerily! 
 
 46 
 
LIKE A CLOCK MY HEART IS BEATING 
 
 Sometimes in my little dwelling 
 In the shadow of the wood, 
 
 To my touch my heart is telling 
 Secrets quickly understood — 
 
 Like a clock its secrets telling, 
 
 Sometimes tender, sometimes rude. 
 
 Like a clock I feel it beating 
 If thou come within my door, 
 
 Like a clock it throbs its greeting 
 Very softly o'er and o'er. 
 
 Like a clock my heart is beating 
 Gently, gently evermore. 
 
 Like a clock I feel it beating 
 At a glance from thy blue eye. 
 
 All excited at the meeting, 
 Lest thou smile and put it by. 
 
 Like a clock my heart is beating, 
 Mad with pleasure, beating high. 
 
 Like a clock I feel it beating 
 At the sweetness of thy kiss, 
 
 Like a clock my heart is beating. 
 Mad with ecstasy and bliss. 
 
 Like a clock my heart is beating, 
 It must break to beat like this ! 
 
 Like a clock I feel it beating 
 When thou art no longer nigh. 
 
 Like a clock so slowly beating. 
 Running down as time goes by. 
 
 Like a clock my heart is beating 
 
 Which would stop — and soon must die. 
 
 47 
 
THE ERMINE ROBE 
 
 Exquisite blossoms fine and white. 
 
 As dainty as a bride's bouquet, 
 
 Are flowering in the April light. 
 
 Lo ! all our apple trees are gay. 
 
 The little petals gently fall 
 
 Within the high gray orchard wall 
 
 Where good Queen Anne still sees them grow. 
 
 The little petals gently fall 
 
 Like a light snow-storm covering all. 
 
 Our Brittany is clothed in snow. 
 
 Soon as the month of June shall close 
 
 When the sun beats with steady ray, 
 
 The buckwheat fields, at first all rose, 
 
 Are snowy white one summer day. 
 
 Light little blossoms covering all 
 
 In fields enclosed by rocky wall — 
 
 (Our good Queen Anne still sees thern grow) 
 
 The little blossoms covering all. 
 
 Like crystals that from Heaven fall, 
 
 Clothe Brittany in white like snow. 
 
 Later a lovely autumn night 
 
 When the soft moonlight, silvery clear, 
 
 Wraps nature all in misty white, 
 
 A robe enchanted she shall wear — 
 
 Myriads of moonbeams thronging all, 
 
 Gorse, meadow, garden, stony wall, 
 
 (Where good Queen Anne still guards, we know) 
 
 Myriads of moonbeams thronging all, 
 
 Like snowy flakes that swiftly fall. 
 
 Show Brittany all clothed in snow. 
 
 48 
 
December with her robes of white 
 Conies traihng in with splendor now. 
 So glowing are our hearts to-night 
 The flakes seem petals on our brow. 
 Upon a carven granite throne 
 Our Brittany is queen alone. 
 Autumn and winter, summer, spring, 
 Proudly she reigns throughout the year, 
 And, like the queen we love to sing, 
 The royal ermine still doth wear. 
 
 49 
 
MOTHER EARTH 
 
 Oh come, good friends, and sing a song. 
 
 Sing to the Earth, 
 With cheerful hearts in chorus strong, 
 
 To Mother Earth, 
 And little John-the- Grain-of- Wheat ! 
 Sing to the kindly Earth, 
 Mother-of-Bread so sweet. 
 
 Soon as the dawning of the day, 
 
 (Sing to the Earth) 
 We leave our beds and haste away, 
 
 (Sing to the Earth) 
 Thinking of John-the-Grain-of-Wheat. 
 Sing to our kindly Earth, 
 Mother-of-Bread so sweet. 
 
 With hand on plough, scorning the cold, 
 
 (Sing to the Earth) 
 Drive a deep furrow in the mould, 
 
 (Sing to the Earth) 
 To cradle John-the-Grain-of-Wheat. 
 Sing to our kindly Earth, 
 Mother-of-Bread so sweet. 
 
 When Goodman Winter comes in sight, 
 
 (Sing to the Earth) 
 And spreads his coverlet of white, 
 
 (Sing to the Earth) 
 Sleep sweetly, John-the-Grain-of-Wheat! 
 Sing to our kindly Earth, 
 Mother-of-Bread so sweet. 
 
 Above the barren field one day, 
 
 (Sing to the Earth) 
 A blade of green looks out all gay. 
 
 (Sing to the Earth) 
 
 so 
 
Who venttores? John-the-Grain-of-Wheat. 
 Sing to the kindly Earth, 
 Mother-of-Bread so sweet. 
 
 Lying close to the mother's heart, 
 
 (Sing to the Earth) 
 Warmed by the sunshine, see him start, 
 
 (Sing to the Earth) 
 And ripen — John-the-Grain-of-Wheat. 
 Sing to the kindly Earth, 
 Mother-of-Bread so sweet. 
 
 Fair knight, so young and yet so bold, 
 
 (Sing to the Earth) 
 With silver armor, casque of gold, 
 
 (Sing to the Earth) 
 How proud is John-the-Grain-of-Wheat! 
 Sing to the kindly Earth, 
 Mother-of-Bread so sweet. 
 
 See scarlet Poppy in her pride, 
 
 (Sing to the Earth) 
 Bluet and Daisy at his side, 
 
 (Sing to the Earth) 
 In love with John-the-Grain-of-Wheat. 
 Sing to the kindly Earth, 
 Mother-of-Bread so sweet. 
 
 Now comes at last the harvest-day, 
 
 (Sing to the Earth) 
 With merry songs and laughter gay, 
 
 (Sing to the Earth) 
 But death for John-the-Grain-of-Wheat. 
 Sing to the kindly Earth, 
 Mother-of-Bread so sweet. 
 
 Reaped in his glory ruthlessly, 
 (Sing to the Earth) 
 
 SI 
 
Trampled, beaten, and crushed is he. 
 
 (Sing to the Earth) 
 Sad lot for John-the-Grain-of - Wheat ! 
 
 Sing to our kindly Earth, 
 
 Mother-of-Bread so sweet. 
 
 But need we sorrow that he dies? 
 
 (Sing to the Earth) 
 Within three days shall he not rise, 
 
 (Sing to the Earth) 
 To live again in John-the-Bread ? 
 Sing to the kindly Earth, 
 Mother of John-the-Bread. 
 
 This is the king of kings, my friend 
 
 (Sing to the Earth) 
 To whom the universe must bend, 
 
 (Sing to the Earth) 
 His Highness, John-the-Bread-of-Wheat. 
 Sing to our kindly Earth, 
 Mother-of-Bread so sweet. 
 
 For through the soil and through the bread, 
 
 (Sing to the Earth) 
 Through all men o'er the wide world spread, 
 
 (Sing to the Earth) 
 Thy life rims, John-the-Grain-of-Wheat. 
 Sing to the kindly Earth, 
 Mother-of-Bread so sweet. 
 
 United one day, as thou seest, 
 
 (Sing to the Earth) 
 We'll gather at one Easter feast, 
 
 (Sing to the Earth) 
 Thy children, John-the-Grain-of-Wheat, 
 Sons of the Mother Earth, 
 Mother-of-Bread so sweet! 
 
 S2 
 
YE SHEPHERDS GAY 
 Carol 
 
 Awaken now, ye shepherds gay! 
 
 Leave your white flocks to stray 
 
 On the white hills away. 
 
 Lo, Christmas in a mantle white 
 
 Comes slowly in to-night. 
 
 Across the moors, follow from far 
 
 The shepherds' guiding star. 
 
 Young shepherds, barefoot, hatless — they 
 
 Were first to come that day 
 
 Where little Jesus lay. 
 
 Then followed Wise Men from the East 
 
 In gold and silver dressed. 
 
 Lo ! midnight, holy hour, doth sound. 
 
 The God of love is found ! 
 
 Kings, people, beggars — everyone 
 
 At the name of God's Son 
 
 Shall love and be as one. 
 
 Evil and hate and every lie. 
 
 Conquered by love, shall die. 
 
 At Christmas, with the stars above, 
 
 How sweet it is to love ! 
 
 S3 
 
THE MIDNIGHT BELLS 
 Carol 
 
 A watching earth and dreaming heaven, 
 Great snowflakes falling silently — 
 Then, far away, a signal given 
 By bells of midnight cheerily. 
 
 Hearken! the silvery bell 
 
 And the bass in unison. 
 
 Who is deaf to the message they tell, 
 
 To their Christmas chime? Not one! 
 
 Each in turn, farther and nearer, 
 
 Angels were singing long ago. 
 
 In the tones of the bells, ringing higher, clearer. 
 
 We hear their voices float below. 
 
 Hearken! the silvery bell 
 
 And the bass in unison. 
 
 Who is deaf to the message they tell. 
 
 To their Christmas chime? Not one! 
 
 Before the newborn Babe low bending. 
 Shepherds and kings are rivals there. 
 The songs of the bells and the angels blending 
 Call them humbly to kneel in prayer. 
 
 Hearken ! the silvery bell 
 
 And the bass in unison. 
 
 Who is deaf to the message they tell, 
 
 To their Christmas chime? Not one! 
 
 Down from heaven to the arms of His mother. 
 With a message men hear not, the Saviour came. 
 Oh, let us learn to love one another, 
 Help one another in His name. 
 
 Hearken ! the silvery bell 
 
 And the bass in unison. 
 
 Who is deaf to the message they tell. 
 
 To their Christmas chime? Not one! 
 
 54 
 
A CHRISTMAS LULLABY 
 
 Little Claude and Claudinet, 
 Christmas brings a loaf of bread. 
 Sleeping, hunger flies away. 
 Sleep and dream that you are fed. 
 
 Lullaby! Jesus too, 
 
 Now doth rest 
 
 On Mary's breast. 
 Lullaby! Mary and He 
 Had no more to eat than we. 
 
 In our humble, little room 
 Where no cheerful firelight glows, 
 Chilly blasts are quite at home. 
 Icy Northwind comes and goes. 
 
 Lullaby! Jesus too, 
 
 Htimbly lay 
 
 Upon the hay. 
 Lullaby ! We know that He 
 Shivered too, like you and me. 
 
 Through the darkness calm and deep. 
 Listen to my tender song. 
 Sleep, my little children, sleep. 
 Knowing naught of sin and wrong. 
 
 Lullaby ! The God of love 
 
 And tenderness. 
 
 Glad to bless — 
 Lullaby I Our Lord one day 
 Wicked men shall take and slay. 
 
 If our lot shall bitter be — 
 Hearken, babes, and cease your cries- 
 'Tis the way of Calvary 
 That shall lead to Paradise. 
 
 Lullaby! The Christmas Child, 
 
 Brother He 
 
 In misery — 
 He who now in manger lies 
 Shall be your brother in the skies. 
 
 55 
 
SLEEP, GRANDMAMMA ARVOR 
 
 The gorse upon our hearths smokes in the stillness vast 
 Like incense from a mighty censer swxmg. 
 
 Sleep ! 
 The Angelus of eve its clearest notes has rung. 
 Our Brittany, another day is past. 
 Sleep, sleep, sweet Grandmamma Arvor,* 
 
 Our dear one, rest. 
 
 Thy people guard thee best. 
 Sleep ! 
 
 The guardians of thy rest 
 
 Prepare thy waking on a morrow blest. 
 
 Over thy w.eary eyes the night's blue veil is spread. 
 Sleep, trusting in thy God to guard and save. 
 
 Sleep, 
 Bathing thy dusty feet in the cool ocean wave. 
 Upon the Cotes du Nord pillowing thy weary head. 
 
 Sleep ! Sleep ! 
 
 In vain some jealous souls will say thine end has come. 
 Thy heart forever beats more strong and young. 
 
 Sleep ! 
 Thy children, full of pride, thy songs have ever sung 
 In the sweet language of their childhood's home. 
 
 Sleep ! Sleep ! 
 
 Always the golden bee sips on thy golden heath. 
 Thy sons drink the pure gold of apple trees. 
 
 Sleep ! 
 Thy hardy sailors still sail by the ocean breeze 
 On the great flood that flows beneath. 
 
 Sleep ! Sleep ! 
 
 * An old name for Brittany. 
 S6 
 
The envious and the bad, what can they do to thee, 
 Land of the mighty soul and granite brow? 
 
 Sleep ! 
 As thou hast struggled once, so we will struggle now 
 That glory may be thine and liberty. 
 Sleep, sleep, sweet Grandmamma Arvor, 
 
 Our dear one, rest. 
 
 Thy people guard thee best. 
 Sleep ! 
 When sunrise ends thy rest. 
 The world shall gladden at thy waking blest. 
 
 .S7 
 
KfC 
 
 :H.i 
 
 m^ 
 
 ^M