An alouberien

THE CONQUERORS

 

They fell on our territory,

Like a flock of crows

On the battleground after the attack,

The conquerors!

 

For a fistful of French paper

And a signature on a document

They had the right to own our land.

The conquerors!

 

Old mills in peaceful valleys

Are now their possessions.

Castles and manors will soon be theirs,

The conquerors!

 

They will scour our countryside,

To tempt, with money, the poor man,

Who will sell the clock and bed of his father,

To the conquerors!

 

They will mount the walls of our Sanctuaries,

And enthrone in their living rooms

Old statues of Breton Saints carved in wood,

Houses of the conquerors!

 

Foreigners yesterday in our Country,

Tomorrow they will be our masters.

And in the valley their web constantly expands,

The conquerors!

 

But are we a meek race, then?

And a laissez-faire people!

If we let our Country's treasure go to the ban

Of Conquerors!

 

 

You, Bretons dispersed in the World,

I'm asking you,

You, Compatriots asleep in your Country,

I'm rousing you.

 

You, on whom Fate has smiled,

I'm entreating you,

Have pity on our Country, hurry to combat

The conquerors.

 

A poor Patriot:

Anjela Duval.

 

March 1964.