Branger'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!