Ce n'est que lorsqu'il expira Que le peuple, qui l'enterra, pleura. - Pierre-Jean de Béranger

Old age doth in sharp pains abound; We are belabored by the gout,
Our blindness is a dark profound, Our deafness each one laughs about.
Then reason's light with falling ray Doth but a trembling flicker cast.
Honor to age, ye children pay! Alas! my fifty years are past!

Adieu! 'tis love's last greeting, The parting hour is come!
And fast thy soul is fleeting To seek its starry home.

Gaily! gaily! close our ranks! Arm! Advance! Hope of France!
Gaily! gaily! close our ranks!
Onward! Onward! Gauls and Franks!