Far through my bosom’s depths. And I awoke;
Ay, as the mountain-cedar doth shake off
Its weight of wintry snow, e’en so I shook
Despondence from my soul, and knew myself
Seal’d by that blood wherewith my hands were dyed,
And set apart, and fearfully mark’d out
Unto a mighty task! To rouse the soul
Of Spain as from the dead; and to lift up
The Cross, her sign of victory, on the hills,
Gathering her sons to battle! And my voice