La belle n'y a pas manqué,
    S'est fait morte en terre porter.
    Les prêt's vont devant en chantant,
    Son père derrière en pleurant.

    "Le beau Dion passa par-là,
    —Arrêtez, prêt's! arrêtez-là!
     Encore une fois je verrai
     M'amie que j'ai tant aimée.

     II tira ses ciseaux d'or fin
     Et décousit le drap de lin.
     La belle un soupir à poussé,
     Un doux rire lui a jeté.

    —Mariez, prêt's, mariez-les!
     Car jamais ne se quitteraient.
     Et quand ils furent mariés
     Tous les deux ils s'en sont allés.

     Ils y fur'nt bien cinq ou six lieues,
     Sans s'être dit un mot ou deux,
     Sinon qu' la belle lui a dit:
     "Mon Dieu, Dion, que j'ai grand' faim!

    Mon Dieu, Dion, que j'ai grand' faim!
     J'y mangerais volontiers mon poing!
    —Mangez-y, belle, votre poing,
     Car plus ne mangerez de pain!"

     Ils y fur'nt bien six ou sept lieues.
     Sans s'être dit un mot ou deux,
     Sinon qu' la belle lui a dit:
     "Mon Dieu, Dion, que j'ai grand' soif!

    Mon Dieu, Dion, que j'ai grand'soif!
     J'y boirais volontiers mon sang!
    —Buvez-y, belle, votre sang,
     Car plus ne boirez de vin blanc.

     II y a là-bas un vivier
     Où quinze dam's se sont baignées,
     Où quinze dam's se sont noyées,
     Et vous la seizième ferez."

    Et quand ils furent au vivier,
    Lui dit de se déshabiller.
    "C' n'est pas l'honneur des chevaliers
    D' voir les dam's s'déshabiller.

    Mettez votre épée sous vos pieds,
    Votre matiteau devant vot' nez,
    Et tournez-vous vers le vivier,
    Alors je me déshabillerai."

    II mit son épée sous ses pieds,
    Et son manteau devant son nez,
    Et s'est tourné vers le vivier;
    La bell' par derrièr l'a poussé.

    "Tenez, ma belle, voice les clefs
    De mes châteauz, de mes contrécs.
   —Je n'ai que faire de vos clefs,
    J'y trouverai des serruriers.

   —La bell', que diront vos amis
    D'avoir noyé votre mari?
   —Je dirai à tous mes amis,
    C' qu'il a voulu m' fair' je lui fis."

[The king is there upon his bridge, his daughter
on his knee. ..... Of Dion they are speaking.
"Do not love Dion, daughter mine! He is a felon
knight; a beggar knight is he who hath not horse
to ride." "I love Dion, and I will love—he's more
to me than the mother who bore me, or, father, than
thou who speakest. I love Dion, and I will love!"
The king calls his jailers. "Quick! shut up my
daughter in the highest of my towers, where she can
see neither sun nor day." Full seven years passed
away, and her father came not near her. When
seven years had come and gone her father came to
see her. "Well, daughter, how farest thou?" "But
evil do I fare; one side is pierced with iron, the
worms have gnawn the other." "Do not love Dion,
daughter mine! He is a felon knight, a beggar
knight is he, who hath not horse to ride." "I love Dion,
and I will love; he's more to me than the mother
who bore me, or the father who speaks to me. I love
Dion, and I will love." The king recals his jailers.
"Quick! shut up my daughter in the highest of my
towers, where she can see neither sun nor day."
Handsome Dion passed thereby; a letter short he
threw her, wherein these words were writ: "Cause
yourself to be dead and buried." The beauty failed
not to obey; she caused herself to die and be borne
to earth; the priests went before, singing; her father
followed after, weeping. Handsome Dion passed
thereby. "Stay, priests, I bid thee stay; and
then once again I can see my love, whom I have
held so dear." He took his golden scissors, and
cut the shroud open; the beauty softly sighed, and
then she smiled on him. "Marry them, priests,
marry them, for never shall they part!" And
when they were married, they took their distant
way. When five leagues were travelled o'er, and n'er
a word been spoken, the beauty said to him: "Good
lack, Dion, I hunger sore. Good lack, Dion, I hunger
sore, I could eat this little hand." "Eat, my beauty,
eat thine hand, for bread thou wilt never eat more."
And when six leagues were travelled o'er, and ne'er
a work been spoken, the beauty said to him: "Good
lack, Dion, I suffer drought! Good lack, Dion, I
suffer drought, I could drink my own red blood!"
Drink, my beauty, drink they blood, for white wine
thou shalt drink no more. Down by there there is
a fish-pond; fifteen ladies there have bathed; fifteen
ladies there are drowned. Thou, my love, shalt
make the sixteenth." When they came unto the
fish-pond, he commanded her to undress. "No true
knight did ever stand by to behold a maid undressing.
Put your sword beneath your feet, and your
cloak before your eyes, and turn your face unto the
fish-pond, then, Dion, I will undress. Quickly from
behind she pushed him. "Here, my darling, are the
keys of all my castles, all my lands." "What care
I for all your keys, locksmiths I can find in plenty?"
"What, my beauty, will your friends say when
your husband you have drowned?" "I shall say
to all my friends, that what he would have done to
me I did to him."]

When the Prince of Wales was in Canada, he
was everywhere greeted by the national air La
claire Fontaine, an air carried over by the
French emigrants who first colonised Canada.
On this account I will give the words sung to
the tune; both are still popular in France:

    En revenant des noces, dondaine,
    Bien las, bien fatigué, dondé,
    Bien las, bien fatigué, (bis)
    Près de la claire fontaine, dondaine, &c.
    Je me suis reposé (&c. with repetition).
    A la claire fontaine
    Les mains me suit lavé,
    A la feuille d'un chêne
    Me les suis essuyé,
    A la plus haute branche
    Le rossignol, chantait;
    Chante, rossignol, chante,
    Puisqu' tu as le cÅ“ur gai.
    Le mien n'est pas de même,
    Car il est affligé;