En fréminnant j’dêmuchînmes eune vielle vèrsion Angliaîche dé Ma Normandie. La v’chîn pouor autchun tchi veurt eune traduction.
While rummaging in our files we came across an old English translation of Ma Normandie, so here it is for anyone who may be interested.
All hope revives when spring returns
and nature decks each flow’r and tree.
‘Tis then my anxious bosom burns
once more to see Ma Normandie!
Dear Normandie! Sweet Normandie!
The land that first gave birth to me!
Where e’er I go, I ne’er shall know
a land so dear as Normandie.
I’ve seen Helvetia’s fertile plains,
The Switzer’s cot, his grand glaciers;
I’ve seen Italia’s sunny skies,
with Venice and its gondoliers.
But fertile plains, and mountains grand,
and sunny skies are nought to me,
when exiled from my native land,
Ma Normandie… dear Normandie.
Tho’ fortune smile and friends are kind,
and hearts are warm, and eyes are bright;
yet stranger friends are not like mine,
such happy faces, hearts so light!
For these I sigh, for these I pine…
Ah! Normandie! where shall I find
or land or friends so dear to me
as Normandie?… Ma Normandie.