The Marseillaise Ah, no, no! His fatherland's not bounded so! Which is the German's fatherland? There, brother, is thy fatherland! There is the German's fatherland, Where oaths attest the grasped hand, Where truth beams from the sparkling eyes, That is the land,— That is the German's fatherland, Where wrath pursues the foreign band,— And Germans all as brothers glow;— All Germany's thy fatherland! All Germany, then, the land shall be; Be this the land, All Germany shall be the land! 2199 From the German of Ernst Moritz Arndt [1769-1860] THE MARSEILLAISE * YE sons of freedom, wake to glory! Hark! hark! what myriads bid you rise! Your children, wives, and grandsires hoary, Behold their tears and hear their cries! Shall hateful tyrants, mischief breeding, * For the original of this poem see page 3586. With hireling hosts, a ruffian band, While peace and liberty lie bleeding? The avenging sword unsheathe; March on! march on! all hearts resolved Now, now the dangerous storm is rolling, And shall we basely view the ruin, While lawless force, with guilty stride, With crimes and blood his hands imbruing? With luxury and pride surrounded, Their thirst of power and gold unbounded, O Liberty! can man resign thee, Once having felt thy generous flame? And all their arts are unavailing. To arms! to arms, ye brave! The avenging sword unsheathe; March on! march on! all hearts resolved On victory or death. Adapted from the French of Rouget de Lisle [1760-1836] SOLDIER SONGS "CHARLIE IS MY DARLING" 'Twas on a Monday morning And Charlie he's my darling, As he was walking up the street, Oh, there he spied a bonny lass Say licht's he jumped up the stair, To let the laddie in? He set his Jenny on his knee, All in his Highland dress; It's up yon heathery mountain, And down yon scroggy glen, We daurna gang a-milking, And Charlie he's my darling, Unknown THE FAREWELL It was a' for our rightfu' King We e'er saw Irish land. Now a' is done that men can do, And a' is done in vain; My love and native land, farewell, For I maun cross the main. He turned him right and round about Upon the Irish shore, And gae his bridle-reins a shake, With, Adieu for evermore, With, Adieu for evermore! The sodger frae the wars returns, The sailor frae the main; But I hae parted frae my love, Never to meet again, My dear Never to meet again. When day is gane, and night is come, And a' folk bound to sleep, I think on him that's far awa', The lee-lang night, and weep. Robert Burns [1759-1796] "Here's a Health to Them That's Awa"" 2203 "HERE'S A HEALTH TO THEM THAT'S AWA"" HERE'S a health to them that's awa', Here's a health to them that's awa'; And wha winna wish guid-luck to our cause, May never guid-luck be their fa'! It's guid to be merry and wise, Here's a health to them that's awa', Here's a health to them that's awa'; Here's a health to Charlie, the chief o' the clan, May Liberty meet wi' success! May Prudence protect her frae evil! May tyrants and Tyranny tine in the mist, And wander their way to the devil! Here's a health to them that's awa', Here's a health to them that's awa'; Here's a health to Tammie, the Norland laddie, That lives at the lug o' the law! Here's freedom to him that wad read! Here's freedom to him that wad write! There's nane ever feared that the truth should be heard, But they wham the truth wad indite. Here's a health to them that's awa', Here's a health to them that's awa'; Here's Maitland and Wycombe, and who does na like 'em We'll build in a hole o' the wa'. Here's timmer that's red at the heart, Here's fruit that's sound at the core! May he that would turn the buff and blue coat Be turned to the back o' the door. |