Each year his mighty armies marched forth in gallant show, Their enemies were targets, their bullets they were tow. - Pierre-Jean de Béranger

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

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

Ye Gods! but she is wondrous fair! For me her constant flame appears;
The garland she hath culled, I wear On brows bald since my thirty years.
Ye veils that deck my loved one rare, Fall, for the crowning triumph's nigh.
Ye Gods! but she is wondrous fair! And I, so plain a man am I!