The weekly pioneer and Democrat. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn. Territory) 1855-1865, 1862-12-05
What, shall we to foreign cohorts,
Without blow struck, trembling bow z
laoll hot

among all the auditors that IsOuget dC
l'Isle, before singing fourth verse, wa:
obliged to beg silence.
He was listened to feverishly.
The indignant voice became menacing
'Tramble, tyrants. with your allies,
Whom all hate with one accord.
Tremble! for your murd'rous projects
Are tatcd soon to gain reward.
If our heroes should fall battling
Fate has many bad things in store
All are soldiers to fight 'gainst We
Our country shall have more, and more."
cay, ay!" cried all the voices.
And fathers pushed forward their sons
who could walk, while mothers held up
in their arms those who still had to be car
red
This made the bard perceive that there
was one verse missing; the song of the
children: the hymn of the forthcoming
harvest, the terminating grain; and while
the guests frenziedly repeated the chorus,
he let his head sink on his hand, and amid
the confusion, excitement, bravoes, he i'm
provised the subjoining:
''TO march forward we are ready,
When our elders shall be no more;
We will follow in their footsteps
Glorious paths they trod before.
Should we fall while them avenging
Should like water our blood OutpOur;
Pierced by the ball or blade, our hearts
Had the same feeling our brothers BORE
Through the stified sobs Of mothers, the
enthusiastic tones of sires, was to be heard
the pure voice of childhood singing:
ITO arms, citizens your battallions form ~
March on, march on.
Until the beams of peace succeed the storm :"
''Ah, but" muttered one of the guards,
sis there to be no pardon to those who
are misled p
''Stay, stay" said Rouget de lIse,
''you will see that my heart does not de-
serve such a reproach."
In voice fraught with emotion, he
sang this holy strophe, in which is the en-
tire soul OF France; humane, grand, gen
erOus and, in her wrath, soaring on the
piniOns of mercy, above anger itself:
" Frenchmen, when your steel is lifted,
Take good heed whose blood you're splitting,
Spare all those, the helpless victims,
Who, 'gain5t you, are ranked unwilling
Applause interrupted the poet.
I" Yes, yes!" came from every side;
ENERGY, forgiveness for our misguided
brothers, our enslaved brothers, who are
pushed against Us with whip and bayonet!"
60 Yes, resumed Rouget de Elsie ''mer-
cy and forgiveness for them!"
g But the followers of Bouille,
Our hands 'gainst them shall know no rest!
Against such tigers pitiless-
Who thirst to rend their mothers breast
To arms, citizens! your battalions form.
cay" cried every voice, against us let
us
March on, march on.
Until the beam of pace succeed the Storm
"Now," cried Rouget de lIsle, down
on your knees, whoever you BET"
All obeyed.
Rouget de l'Isle alone remained stand
ing; he set one loot on the chair of ore of
the guests, as if on the first step of the
Temple of Liberty, and uplifting both arms
to the heavens, he sang the last verse, the
invocation to the spirit of France:
go, sacred love of native land,
Strengthen, guide our avenging hands
o, Liberty, dear Liberty
Strike thou with thy defending bands.
May thy sweet tones call to our flags
May thy expiring foemen see
Thee triumphant and us glory"
France is saved." said a voice.
And from every mouth, in an universal
outburst, pealed the De profmdis of des-
potism, the Mognifcm of liberty:
"To arms, citizens your battalions form!
March on, march on!
Until the beams OF peace succeed the storm
1t was now wild, intoxicated, unre-
strained joy every one threw himself into
his neighbours arms; the girls collected
flowers in nosegays, and chaplets, which
they strewed at the poets feet
Thirty eight years after this, while of
this great day telling me, man who had
Just for the first time head, in 1880, this
holy hymn sung by the peoples mighty
voice-the poets brow still shone with the
halo Of 1892.
And this was justice.
Else, how comes it that l myself, while
penning these last lines, am thus affected !?
From whence comes it that, while my
trembling right hand traces the chorus OF
the children, this invocation to the spirit
of France, my left hand dashes away a
tear ready to drop on the paper!
1t is because the holy Marseillase is not
only battle-cry, but an outburst of fra
ternity; because the powerful hand of
France is outstretched over all her people;
because it will ever be the last sigh Of dy-
ing freedom, the first cry of liberty born
again