It is Morbec arises there!

The sands that stretch above the idle waves,

And all the little shells upon the shore!

De Vardes

The convent bell is ringing! Seest thou not

The fountain old, the fruit trees in the sun?

Yvette

Oh, life was never made for happiness!

The hour’s too short, the wine spills from the cup,

The blossom’s shaken ere we know ‘tis sweet!