You are going far away, far away from poor Jeannette,
There is no one left to love me now, and you, too, may forget;
But my heart will be with you, wherever you may go,
Can you look me in the face and say the same, Jeannot?
When you wear the jacket red and the beautiful cockade,
Oh! I fear that you’ll forget all the promises you made;
With a gun upon your shoulder and your bayonet by your side,
You’ll be taking some fair lady and be making her your bride.
You’ll be taking, &c.
Or, when glory leads the way, you’ll be madly rushing on,
Never thinking if they kill you that my happiness is gone;
If you win the day, perhaps a general you’ll be,
Though I’m proud to think of that, what will become of me?
Oh! if I were queen of France, or still better pope of Rome,
I’d have no fighting men abroad, no weeping maids at home;
All the world be at peace, or if kings must show their might,
Why let them who make the quarrels be the only men to fight.
Yes, let them, &c.
The Answer.
Cheer up! cheer up! my own Jeannette, though far away I go,
In all the changes I may see, I’ll be the same Jeannot;
And if I win both fame and gold, ah! be not so unkind,
To think I could forget you in the home I leave behind.
There’s not a lady in the land, and if she were a queen,
Could win my heart from you, Jeannette, so true as you have been;
They must have gallant warriors, chance has cast the lot on me,
But, mind you, that this soldier, love, must no deserter be.
But, mind, &c.
Why, since the world began, the surest road to fame,
Has been the field where men unknown might win themselves a name.
And well I know the brightest eyes have all the brighter shone,
When looking at some warrior bold return’d from battles won.
And you’d put an end to deeds which ladies love so well,
And have no tales of valor left for history to tell;
The soldier’s is a noble trade, Jeannette, then rail no more,
Were only kings themselves to fight, there’d be an end to war.
Were only kings, &c.