Shout through the vine-clad land!
That her sons on all their hills may hear;
And sharpen the point of the red wolf-spear,
And the sword for the brave man’s hand!
[The Citizens join in the song, while they continue arming themselves.
Banners are in the field!
The chief must rise from his joyous board,
And turn from the feast ere the wine be pour’d,
And take up his father’s shield!
The Moor is on his way!