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Translated by John Oxenford
COME, children of your country, come, | |
| New glory dawns upon the world, | |
| Our tyrants, rushing to their doom, | |
| Their bloody standard have unfurled; | |
| Already on our plains we hear | 5 |
| The murmurs of a savage horde; | |
| They threaten with the murderous sword | |
| Your comrades and your children dear. | |
| Then up, and form your ranks, the hireling foe withstand; | |
| March on,—his craven blood must fertilize the land. | 10 |
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| Those banded serfs,—what would they have, | |
| By tyrant kings together brought? | |
| Whom are those fetters to enslave | |
| Which long ago their hands have wrought? | |
| You, Frenchmen, you they would enchain; | 15 |
| Doth not the thought your bosoms fire? | |
| The ancient bondage they desire | |
| To force upon your necks again. | |
| Then up, and form your ranks, the hireling foe withstand; | |
| March on,—his craven blood must fertilize the land. | 20 |
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| Those marshalled foreigners,—shall they | |
| Make laws to reach the Frenchman’s hearth? | |
| Shall hireling troops who fight for pay | |
| Strike down our warriors to the earth? | |
| God! shall we bow beneath the weight | 25 |
| Of hands that slavish fetters wear? | |
| Shall ruthless despots once more dare | |
| To be the masters of our fate? | |
| Then up, and form your ranks, the hireling foe withstand; | |
| March on,—his craven blood must fertilize the land. | 30 |
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| Then tremble, tyrants,—traitors all,— | |
| Ye, whom both friends and foes despise; | |
| On you shall retribution fall, | |
| Your crimes shall gain a worthy prize. | |
| Each man opposes might to might; | 35 |
| And when our youthful heroes die | |
| Our France can well their place supply; | |
| We ’re soldiers all with you to fight. | |
| Then up, and form your ranks, the hireling foe withstand; | |
| March on,—his craven blood must fertilize the land. | 40 |
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| Yet, generous warriors, still forbear | |
| To deal on all your vengeful blows; | |
| The train of hapless victims spare, | |
| Against their will they are our foes. | |
| But O, those despots stained with blood, | 45 |
| Those traitors leagued with base Bouillé, | |
| Who make their native land their prey;— | |
| Death to the savage tiger-brood! | |
| Then up, and form your ranks, the hireling foe withstand; | |
| March on,—his craven blood must fertilize the land. | 50 |
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| And when our glorious sires are dead, | |
| Their virtues we shall surely find | |
| When on the selfsame path we tread, | |
| And track the fame they leave behind. | |
| Less to survive them we desire | 55 |
| Than to partake their noble grave; | |
| The proud ambition we shall have | |
| To live for vengeance or expire. | |
| Then up, and form your ranks, the hireling foe withstand; | |
| March on,—his craven blood must fertilize the land. | 60 |
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| Come, love of country, guide us now, | |
| Endow our vengeful arms with might, | |
| And, dearest liberty, do thou | |
| Aid thy defenders in the fight. | |
| Unto our flags let victory, | 65 |
| Called by thy stirring accents, haste; | |
| And may thy dying foes at last | |
| Thy triumph and our glory see. | |
| Then up, and form your ranks, the hireling foe withstand; | |
| March on,—his craven blood must fertilize the land. | 70 |
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