There was a time when people marched against their governments when their governments oppressed them.
Arise children of the fatherland The day of glory has arrived Against us tyranny's Bloody standard is raised Listen to the sound in the fields The howling of these fearsome soldiers They are coming into our midst To cut the throats of your sons and consorts
To arms citizens Form your battalions March, march Let impure blood Water our furrows
What do they want this horde of slaves Of traitors and conspiratorial kings? For whom these vile chains These long-prepared irons? Frenchmen, for us, ah! What outrage What methods must be taken? It is us they dare plan To return to the old slavery!
What! These foreign cohorts! They would make laws in our courts! What! These mercenary phalanxes Would cut down our warrior sons Good Lord! By chained hands Our brow would yield under the yoke The vile despots would have themselves be The masters of destiny
Tremble, tyrants and traitors The shame of all good men Tremble! Your parricidal schemes Will receive their just reward Against you we are all soldiers If they fall, our young heros France will bear new ones Ready to join the fight against you
Frenchmen, as magnanimous warriors Bear or hold back your blows Spare these sad victims That they regret taking up arms against us But not these bloody despots These accomplices of Bouillé All these tigers who pitilessly Ripped out their mothers' wombs
We too shall enlist When our elders' time has come To add to the list of deeds Inscribed upon their tombs We are much less jealous of surviving them Than of sharing their coffins We shall have the sublime pride Of avenging or joining them
Drive on sacred patriotism Support our avenging arms Liberty, cherished liberty Join the struggle with your defenders Under our flags, let victory Hurry to your manly tone So that in death your enemies See your triumph and our glory!
I'm a woman, a Witch, a mother, a grandmother, an eco-feminist, a gardener, a reader, a writer, and a priestess of the Great Mother Earth. Hecate appears in the
Homeric Ode to Demeter, which tells of Hades who caught Persophone
"up reluctant on his golden car and bare her away lamenting. . . . But no one, either of the deathless gods or of mortal men, heard her voice, nor yet the olive-trees bearing rich fruit: only tenderhearted Hecate, bright-coiffed, the daughter of Persaeus, heard the girl from her cave . . . ."