[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!