by Claude-Joseph Rouget de L'isle

Allons enfants de la Patrie, Le jour de gloire est arrivé.
Contre nous, de la tyrannie,
L'étendard sanglant est levé, l'étendard sanglant est levé.
Entendez-vous dans les campagnes Mugir ces farouches soldats.
Ils viennent jusque dans nos bras égorger vos fils, vos compagnes.
Aux armes citoyens! Formez vos bataillons, Marchons, marchons!
Qu'un sang impur Abreuve nos sillons.

Amour sacré de la Patrie,
Conduis, soutiens nos bras vengeurs.
Liberté, liberté chérie,
Combats avec tes défenseurs;
Sous nos drapeaux, que la victoire
Accoure à tes mâles accents;
Que tes ennemis expirants
Voient ton triomphe et notre gloire!
Aux armes citoyens!
Formez vos bataillons,
Marchons, marchons!
Qu'un sang impur Abreuve nos sillons.

Ye sons of France, awake to glory, Hark, hark, what
myriads bid you rise: Your children, wives and grandsires
hoary, Behold their tears and hear their cries, see their
tears and hear their cries! Shall hateful tyrants mischief
breeding with hireling hosts, a ruffian band
Affright and desolate the land, while peace and liberty lie bleeding?
To arms, to arms, ye brave! Th'avenging sword unsheathe!
March on! March on! All hearts resolved on victory or death.

O sacred love of france, undying,
Th'avenging arm uphold and guide
Thy defenders, death defying,
Fight with Freedom on their side.
Soon thy sons shall be victorious
When the banner high is raised;
And thy dying enemies, amazed,
Shall behold thy triumph, great and glorious.
To arms, to arms, ye brave! Th'avenging sword unsheathe!
March on! March on! All hearts resolved on victory or death.

Translation by Percy Bysshe Shelley (1st verse) and Mary Elizabeth Shaw (2nd verse) (This is not a literal translation.)