From gay Gascon coasts

March fraternal hosts,

Equal hosts and free,

Pilgrims to the shrine of liberty.

[45]

But king calls on king in wild alarms,

Troops march threatening through the vales and passes,

Barefoot Faubourgs at the cry to arms

On the frontier hurl their desperate masses:

The deep tocsin's boom

Fills the streets with gloom,

And with iron hand

The red Terror guillotines the land.

For the Furies of the sanguine past

Chase fair Freedom, struggling torn and baffled,

Till infuriate—turned to bay at last—

Rolled promiscuous on the common scaffold,

Vengeful she shall smite

A Queen's head bleached white,

And a courtesan's

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