I went for a walk in the soft night
All by myself in the moonlight,
Listening quietly to the song of the Earth.
The Nightingale long since had hushed,
The rosebush Crickets were all asleep,
The Heath is peaceful when at rest,
Yet, in the lustrous night’s calm
Amid the sea of golden broom
There seemed to arise a moaning!
Around me there’s no one to be seen
Except the pine’s shadow on the horizon
Or do I hear then the voice of the wind?
Is it the voice of cascading water?
The murmuring of the current
The voice of our Ancestors’ lament?
It’s the voice of our Heroes that rumbles
Within the heath above the roses
In the secret still of the darkness:
“Our life has passed with your step
And has our sacrifice been a waste?
These fields are a desert!
Hear our voices, hear our plea
Wake up now, Bretons, on your feet,
That Brittany may live eternally!”


Translated by Lenora Timm

This poem in breton

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