Maidens young, who wish to wed,

Take advice from an old head.

If you marry, as you say,

Do not take a sailor gay.

If you take a sailor gay,

You will sorrow night and day.

When the farmer's wife's in bed The sailor's wife the floor must tread.

When the wind arises shrill,

Her heart will beat, her eyes will fill.

Her heart will beat, her eyes will fill,

And in her veins the blood run chill.

Every moment she seeks the door,

—Mercy, how the torrents pour!

If I had store of money red,

I know the husband I would wed.

I'd wed the heir of a good house,

Who can reap the fields he ploughs.

Who can reap the fields he ploughs,

And in his stable has good cows.

Both night and day whom I can see,

And who will sleep by the side of me.

While the poor sailor, day and night,

Lives in peril and affright.

Day and night must work and wake,

And of a plank his cradle make.

The Breton women, who spend hours at the spinning-wheel, as in all other countries, accompany the monotonous and musical drone with long chants, that hypnotize the sense of labor, which are often merely improvisations with as little sense and meaning as the lullabies for infants. But here is one into which the old spinner puts the thoughts of her willingness to make sacrifice of her all in order that her son might be educated as a priest, and her hopes of reward from his filial piety. The soothing and monotonous melody is necessarily lost in the translation.