Who by the light the picture shows,
May not your blood-stain’d brows disclose,
O! noble chiefs of Spain?
With crimson dyed, or with the brand
Of sulphurous powder, firm ye stand,
As in the conflict dire,
The sacrilegious giants rear’d,
Serene the shining gods appear’d,
Midst rolling clouds of fire.
Shouts forth your courage hoarsely high