Brittany

That joyous blood thy fretful mood may quell,
Thy lungs should deeply drink the Atlantic air
Perfumed with wrack the sea delights to bear.
Arvor has capes the surge besprinkles well,

And furze and heather all their glories tell.
The demons', dwarfs' and clans' own land so fair,
Friend, on the mountain's granite guard with care—
Immobile man near thing immutable.

Come. Everywhere on moors about Arez
Mounts toward heaven—cypress no hand can slay—
The menhir's column raised above the Brave;

And Ocean, that beds with algae's golden store
Voluptuous Is and mighty Occismor,
Will soothe thy sadness with his cradling wave.