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Catch me confiding my person with strangers !

Think how the cowardly Bull-Runners ran! In the brigade of the Stay-at-home Rangers

Marches my corps, says the sweet little man.

Such was the stuff of the Malakoff-takers,

Such were the soldiers that scaled the Redan ; Truculent housemaids and bloodthirsty Quakers,

Brave not the wrath of the sweet little man !

Yield him the sidewalk, ye nursery maidens !

Sauve qui peut ! Bridget, and right about ! Ann ;Fierce as a shark in a school of menhadens,

See him advancing, the sweet little man !

When the red flails of the battle-field's threshers

Beat out the continent's wheat from its bran, While the wind scatters the chaffy seceshers,

What will become of our sweet little man?

When the brown soldiers come back from the borders,

How will he look while his features they scan ? How will he feel when he gets marching orders,

Signed by his lady love ? sweet little man!

Fear not for him, though the rebels expect him,

Life is too precious to shorten its span ;
Woman her broomstick shall raise to protect him,

Will she not fight for the sweet little man !

Now then, nine cheers for the Stay-at-home Ranger !

Blow the great fish-horn and beat the big pan! First in the field that is farthest from danger,

Take your white-feather plume, sweet little man !




The land of sunshine and of song!

Her name your hearts divine ;
To her the banquets vows belong

Whose breasts have poured its wine ;
Our trusty friend, our true ally

Through varied change and chance :
So, fill your flashing goblets high, -

I give you, VIVE LA FRANCE !

Above our hosts in triple folds

The self-same colors spread,
Where Valor's faithful arm upholds

The blue, the white, the red ;
Alike each nation's glittering crest

Reflects the morning's glance, –
Twin eagles, soaring east and west:

Once more, then, VIVE LA FRANCE !

Sister in trial ! who shall count

Thy generous friendship’s claim, Whose blood ran mingling in the fount

That gave our land its name, Till Yorktown saw in blended line

Our conquering arms advance, And victory's double garlands twine

Our banners ? VIVE LA FRANCE !

O land of heroes ! in our need

One gift from Heaven we crave To stanch these wounds that vainly bleed, —

The wise to lead the brave ! Call back one Captain of thy past

From glory's marble trance, Whose name shall be a bugle-blast

To rouse us! Vive la FRANCE!

Pluck Condé's baton from the trench,

Wake up stout Charles Martel,
Or find some woman's hand to clench

The sword of La Pucelle !
Give us one hour of old Turenne, -

One lift of Bayard's lance, —
Nay, call Marengo's Chief again

To lead us ! VIVE LA FRANCE !

Ah, hush! our welcome Guest shall hear

But sounds of peace and joy; No angry echo vex thine ear,

Fair Daughter of Savoy !
Once more! the land of arms and arts,

Of glory, grace, romance ;
Her love lies warm in all our hearts :

God bless her! VIVE LA FRANCE!

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