Καλλιτεχνικός Σύλλογος Δημοτικής Μουσικής Δόμνα Σαμίου

Down on the sandy beach, down by the water’s edge,
a girl was laundering her silver-threaded dress.
After rinsing it, she lay and fell asleep.
The wind blew from the north, and backed north-west, then north again,
and rudely lifted up her silver-threaded dress
and bared for all to see her ankle-bones.
The beach blazed bright as stars.
A vessel in the offing came nearer to the shore,
it lowered sail and stopped.
– Pull on the oars, my lads, and row for all you’re worth,
make haste there and draw close to where the sun is glittering.
Now if it’s gold, my lads, each of us gets his share,
and if it’s sail-cloth, then we’ll have it for our boat,
but if a bonny lass, it is the skipper’s trove.
Indeed, it was a lass.

Translated by John Leatham