Ulysse

Happy is he, like Ulysses, who has made a beautiful journey,
Or like the one who conquered the fleece,
And then returned, full of experience and wisdom
To live among his family for the rest of his days!

When will I see again, alas, my little village,
Smoke from the chimney and in what season?

But when will I see again, from my little village, smoke from the chimney and in what season?
But when will I see again?
(refrain repeated)

Will I see again the enclosure of my poor house
Which is a province to me, and much more?
I prefer the stay that my ancestors built,
Than the audacious front of Roman palaces,
More than hard marble, I prefer fine slate,

More my Gallic Loire, than the Latin Tiber,
More my little Liret, than the Palatine hill,
And more than the sea air, the sweetness of Anjou.

But when will I see again, from my little village, smoke from the chimney and in what season,
But when will I see again?
(refrain repeated)

I crossed the seas with the strength of my arms,
Alone against the Gods, lost in the sea air,
Holed up in a hold, with my old eardrums pierced,
To never hear again the sirens and their voices.

Our lives are a war where it's up to us
To care about our fates, to make the right choice,
To be wary of our steps, and all this water that sleeps,
That pollutes our paths, supposedly paved with gold.

But when will I see again, from my little village, smoke from the chimney and in what season?
But when will I see again?
(refrain repeated)

But when will I see again?
But when will I see again?
But when will I see again?
But when will I see again?