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Translated by John Oxenford
COME, sons of the Canal, and join me in my strain, | |
| From Paris to Pantin,—to Paris back again. | |
| Long live the Canal St. Martin! | |
| The joyous young gamin, | |
| The cosey citaden, | 5 |
| All bless the Canal St. Martin. | |
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| There laundresses and bargemen loud, | |
| There débardeurs and colliers black, | |
| About the waters ever crowd, | |
| And none employment ever lack. | 10 |
| Here full an hundred trades can gain | |
| Far better bread than on the Seine; | |
| And ’t is, to our Canal we know | |
| Our cups of sparkling wine we owe. | |
| Come, sons of the Canal, etc. | 15 |
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| There anglers, catching naught, are seen, | |
| Whose hopes no disappointments dash; | |
| Thither proceeds with solemn mien | |
| The stout bourgeois his dog to wash. | |
| Though warning notices appear, | 20 |
| From its foundation, it is clear, | |
| A swimming school was our Canal | |
| For training dogs in general. | |
| Come, sons of the Canal, etc. | |
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| The tradesmen who in liquor deal, | 25 |
| Of our Canal good use can make; | |
| And when they mean their casks to fill | |
| They oft its water freely take. | |
| By this device they render less | |
| The ills that spring from drunkenness; | 30 |
| For harmless is the wine, you ’ll own, | |
| From vines that in canals are grown. | |
| Come, sons of the Canal, etc. | |
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| But now it ’s getting rather dark, | |
| And just along the lone bankside | 35 |
| Methinks there is a signal: hark! | |
| And there I see a shadow glide. | |
| There ’s not a star, the sky is black, | |
| So homewards, friend, should be your track. | |
| Decked with her veil the moon is seen, | 40 |
| And thieves will soon their trade begin. | |
| Each prudent citadin will cherish wholesome fears, | |
| From midnight till the hour when daylight first appears, | |
| Of this same Canal St. Martin; | |
| From Paris to Pantin, | 45 |
| Thou worthy citadin, | |
| O, dread the Canal St. Martin. | |
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