Beranger's My Last Song Perhaps (January 1814)

When, to despoil my native France, With flaming torch and cruel sword And boisterous drums her foeman comes, I curse him and his vandal horde! Yet, what avail accrues to her, If we assume the garb of woe? Let's merry be,--in laughter we May rescue somewhat from the foe! Ah, many a brave man trembles now. I (coward!) show no sign of fear; When Bacchus sends his blessing, friends, I drown my panic in his cheer. Come, gather round my humble board, And let the sparkling wassail flow,-- Chuckling to think, the while you drink, "This much we rescue from the foe!" My creditors beset me so And so environed my abode, That I agreed, despite my need, To settle up the debts I owed; When suddenly there came the news Of this invasion, as you know; I'll pay no score; pray, lend me more,-- I--I will keep it from the foe! Now here's my mistress,--pretty dear!-- Feigns terror at this martial noise, And yet, methinks, the artful minx Would like to meet those soldier boys! I tell her that they're coarse and rude, Yet feel she don't believe 'em so,-- Well, never mind; so she be kind, That much I rescue from the foe! If, brothers, hope shall have in store For us and ours no friendly glance, Let's rather die than raise a cry Of welcome to the foes of France! But, like the swan that dying sings, Let us, O Frenchmen, singing go,-- Then shall our cheer, when death is near, Be so much rescued from the foe!