This text comes from Songs of French Canada, a historical songbook transcribed on Wikisource and reproduced from the pinned revision linked below.
I never trod thy cliffs' aspiring height,
Nor saw thy pines their golden balsam store,
Nor watched thy balanced shallops winging white,
Yet, Breton land, I love thee evermore.
My love is strong as thy old oaks at core,
Toward them my heart is often taking flight,
Because we hold, throughout our land, a right
In that pure blood which through thy veins doth pour.
Yes, thee I love with ancient memories—
Thy reeds, thy heaths where Druid work endures,
Thy storied people and thy shore-beat seas,
And when returning May with balm allures,
I dream the murmurous evening's eastern breeze
Brings airs of perfume vaguely from thy moors.