The town is won! Do ye hear
Along the paven streets of Mons
Speed of the lightning, speed of the cloud,
Waterspout of clinking iron!
“Hurrah for Chaumont and his Spanish steed!
Sound the clarion of joy, beat upon the drum:
’Tis the hay month, fragrant are the meadows;
The lark mounts up, singing in the sky:
Long live the bird of freedom!
Beat upon the drum of glory.