Thy trumpet music, till the seas and heavens,
And the deep hills, give every stormy note
Echoes to ring through Spain! How, know ye not
That all array’d for triumph, crown’d and robed
With the strong spirit which hath saved the land,
E’en now a conqueror to his rest is gone?
Fear not to break that sleep, but let the wind
Swell on with victory’s shout!—He will not hear—
Hath earth a sound more sad?
Her. Lift ye the dead,