The song of war shall echo thro' our mountains,

  Till not one hateful link remains

  Of slavery's lingering chains;

  Till not one tyrant tread our plains,

Nor traitor lip pollute our fountains.

  No! never till that glorious day

  Shall Lusitania's sons be gay,

  Or hear, oh Peace, thy welcome lay

Resounding thro' her sunny mountains.

The song of war shall echo thro' our mountains,

  Till Victory's self shall, smiling, say,

  "Your cloud of foes hath past away,

  "And Freedom comes with new-born ray

"To gild your vines and light your fountains."

  Oh, never till that glorious day

  Shall Lusitania's sons be gay,

  Or hear, sweet Peace, thy welcome lay

Resounding thro' her sunny mountains.