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Wooed by the song of young Romance
To beauty's perfumed bower.
And Bretagne's maids have witching arts,
Beguiling mortal men;
And starry eyes, and melting hearts
Are found in bright Guienne.
But my blush rose! my Provence rose!
What can to thee compare?
There's not a single flower that blows,
So delicate, so fair!
There's many a sweet and sunny glance
Beyond the sparkling Rhone,
And rose-lipped maidens lead the dance
Across the sun-kissed Soane,
Oh! joyous are the festivals,
The mirth and minstrelsy,
With beauty smiling in the halls
Of tower-crowned Normandy.
