1111.
Ye sons of France awake to glory,
Hark! Hark I what myriads bid you rise,
Your children, wives, and grandaires hoary,
Behold their tears and hear their ries.
Shall hateful tyrants, mischief breeding,
With hireling hosts, a ruffian band,
Affright and desolate the land,
While peace and liberty lie bleeding.
To arms to arms, ye brave!
The avenging sword unsheath,
March on! march on! all hearts resolved
On victory or death.
Now, now the dangerous storm is rolg,
Which treacherous chiefs eonfederatew ri |
The dogs of war, let loose, are howling,
And lo! our fields and cities blaze
And shall we basely view the ruin,
Which lawless force, with guilty stride,
Spreads desolation far and wide,
With crimes and blood his hands imbruing.
To arms! ye brave, o
With luxury and pride surrounded,
The vile insatiate despots dare,
Their thirst of power and gold unbounded
To mete and vend the light and air;
Like beasts of burden would they load as,
Like gods, would bid their slaves adore,
But man is man, and who is more
Then, shall they longer lash and goad s?
To arms I ye brave, oe.
0, liberty! can man resign thee,
Once having felt thy gen'rous Same ?
Can dungeons, bolts, or bars confine thb
Or whips, thy noble spirit tame?
Too long the world has wept, bewailing
That falsehood's dagger tyrants wield;
But Freedom Is our sword and shield,
And all their arts are unavailing.
To arm I ye brave, k.
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