Classic Poem

From the noisome garrets and cellars,
From the kennels and dens of shame,
The city's wild cavern-dwellers
One day into sunlight came;
For a magic singer had found him
A song with a new refrain,
And the outcasts thronged around him
And took up the mighty strain. —
Aux armes, aux armes, Citoyens!
Formez, formez vos bataillons!
Marchons, marchons, qu'un sang impur abreuve nos sillons!

He had lain on the rocky shingle
By the rim of the sounding sea,
Where the warring voices mingle
And melt into harmony;
And he listed the note that lingers
In eternal monotone,
When the sea with his strong white fingers
Beats on the keys of stone.

Breakers twain, and another,
And the third is a vengeful cry;
Ever the same, nor other
Shall be till the seas be dry:
The first bids the slave awaken;
The next is a call to fight;
The thrones at the third are shaken,
And the People is king by right.

The gilded court's shrill babble
Was stilled when the dumb ones spoke,
And the grand, sad, patient rabble
From its sleeping ages woke.
Then the wrongs that were built of granite
Were weak as a lie laid bare;
No room for wrong on the planet
When Oppression begets Despair.

Ah! new bastiles have been builded,
And tyranny grows again,
But the freedom-song that thrilled it
Dies not from the heart of men;
For prisons will crumble under
The spell of a magic word,
And fetters shall fall asunder
When the Song of the Sea is heard. —
Aux armes, aux armes, Citoyens!
Formez, formez vos bataillons!
Marchons, marchons, qu'un sang impur abreuve nos sillons!