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Translated by James Patrick Muirhead I SAW, where Vire through valleys flows, | |
| The fulling-mills in ruins laid, | |
| The mills from which our songs arose; | |
| And, mourning the past time, I said: | |
| Where are the mills, O valleys fair! | 5 |
| The source of many a drinking-air? | |
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| The traffic of our sires of yore | |
| Was in the cloth they made and sold. | |
| Good Basselin (alas, no more!) | |
| With them his joyous music trolled. | 10 |
| Where are the mills, O valleys fair! | |
| The source of many a drinking-air? | |
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| In mills that fulled their drapery, | |
| Where that bright rivers currents pass, | |
| They deeply drank, in jollity, | 15 |
| Cider worth more than hypocras. | |
| Where are the mills, O valleys fair! | |
| The source of many a drinking-air? | |
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| Basselin framed their drinking-lays, | |
| As Vaux-de-Vire so widely known; | 20 |
| And taught a thousand charming ways | |
| Of singing their melodious tone. | |
| Where are the mills, O valleys fair! | |
| The source of many a drinking-air? | |
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| But to that good old time a close. | 25 |
| To all things human cometh rest! | |
| Within me, wine! take thy repose: | |
| May he who poured thee out be blest! | |
| Where are the mills, O valleys fair! | |
| The source of many a drinking-air? | 30 |
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