Awake, ye Sons of Spain! awake! advance!

Lo! Chivalry, your ancient Goddess, cries,

But wields not, as of old, her thirsty lance,

Nor shakes her crimson plumage in the skies:

Now on the smoke of blazing bolts she flies,

And speaks in thunder through yon engine's roar:

In every peal she calls—"Awake! arise!"

Say, is her voice more feeble than of yore,

When her war-song was heard on Andalusia's shore?