Song XVII. Marseillois Hymn

Arise! ye gen'rous youth of France, And mark the glory of this day: 'Gainst us the tyrant-throng advance, And high the bloody flag display. [Twice] Our fields ferocious hirelings dare, And savage howlings rend the sky, They come! and from your arms they tear The pratling babes, who bleeding, die! Arm, Citizens, to arms! Arrange the warlike band; March on, march on, With blood impure, T'imbrue your thirsty land! We march, we march, With blood impure, T'imbrue our thirsty land!

What would this herd of conjor'd kings, Vile slaves, and traitors, ghastly throng! For whom the chain ignoble brings The bondage we have suffered long? [Twice] In vengeance, French, let every breast With swelling transport ceaseless burn, Fair freedom teaches to detest The slavery they bid return.

What! would these proud outlandish foes Be legislators in our land? What! would this hireling crounds oppose And lay in dust our warlike band? [Twice] Great God! shall then th'enflaving rod Subject us to our former state? Shall a vile despot's sovereign nod Decide at will our abject fate?

Our warriors now the glory share, By them you fall, by them succeed; Spare, then, the wretched victims, spare! We arm to die, or make you bleed. [Twice] But, lo! these sanguinary lords Joyous exert their savege pow'r; These bloody tyrants lift their swords, And their own countries peace devour.

Tremble, proud tyrants, traitors blush, Quick, quick resign the victor's plume, The arm of justice, rais'd to crush, Descends, and you must meet your doom. [Twice.

All, all are soldiers now in France, And should we fall, new legions rise, Our youth to join the fight advance, And learn all danger to despise.

With joy we will assume the trust When down death's hill our fathers roll, Then shall we find their sacred dust Will animate the aspiring soul. [Twice] Less zealous to survive our sires Than share the death we all contemn, Their sons a glorious pride inspires T'avenge their wrongs or follow them.

To arms, &c.

Oh! "sacred love of country" aid Our vengeful arms, our footsteps guide, And Liberty! celestial maid, Adhere to thy defender's side, [Twice.] When victory our tents shall leave, To spread the joyous tidings round, Thy triumph and our fame shall give Our enemies their lasting wound.

To arms, &c.

Our native soil and social love, Together limit our desires, Then ever lei our souls improve The glow which virtue's wish inspires. twice By union shall our power's increase, Our tyrant foes shall hug their chain; And then the happy French shall cease To chaunt the harsh incongruous strain.

To arms, &c.

Frenchmen, too long, the sport of factions, This day should quench fell discord's flame: Americans, whose virtuous actions Excel the proudest nation's claim, Let us for ever be united, Conspiring kings our wrath shall dread, Our thunders bursting on their head, Shall hurl them from their thrones affrighted,

To arms, &c.