DB BBRANQSR AND HIS BONOS. 



Ay, and again the Huns shall fall, 

 Scatter'd o'er the fields of Gaul • 



Gay, gay ! close in your ranks. 



Grasp the lance, 



Ye sons of France ; 

 Gay, gay ! close in your ranks, 

 Bravely onwards, Gauls and Franks ! 



The Cossacks quit their marshy homes— 



So icy cold. 



For English gold. 

 The Kurd, as through the south he roams, 

 Bejieves he'll sleep beneath our domes 1 



Gay, gay ! close in your ranks, 



Grasp the lance. 



Ye sons of France ; 

 Gay, gay ! close in your ranks. 

 Bravely onwards, Gauls and Franks ! 



The Russian hates his climate dread, 



Nor comfort knows 



Amidst his snows ; 

 To train oil and dry acorns bred. 

 He longs to eat of our white bread. 



Gay, gay ! close in your ranks, 



Grasp the lance. 



Ye sons of France ; 

 Gay, gay ! close in your ranks, 

 Bravely onwards, Gauls and Franks ! 



We've sav'd the red juice of the vine, 



Glory to toast ; 



Shall then the host 

 Of Saxons, from beyond the Rhine, 

 Forbid our songs, and drink our wine ? 



Gay, gay ! close in your ranks, 



Grasp the lance, 



Ye sons of France ; 

 Gay, gay ! close in your ranks. 

 Bravely onwards, Gauls and Franks ! 



The Kalmucks' fire his blood shall quench. 



Ere to despair 



They drive our fair ; 

 Shall our wives' cheeks witli tenor blench, 

 To think their sons may not be French ? 



Gay, gay! close in your ranks. 



Grasp the lance, 



Ye sons of France ; 

 Gay, gay ! close in your ranks. 

 Bravely onwards, Gauls and Franks ! 



What though now misfortunes lour 



O'er the name 



Dear to our fame, 

 Never did our legions cower 

 Before the might of Prussia's power ! 



