And the household, in the hush of eve,
Were met their porch around.
A voice rang through the olive-wood, with a sudden trumpet’s power—
“We rise on all our hills! Come forth! ’tis thy country’s gathering-hour:
There’s a gleam of spears by every stream in each old battle-dell.
Come forth, young Juan! Bid thy home a brief and proud farewell!”
Then the father gave his son the sword
Which a hundred fights had seen—
“Away! and bear it back, my boy!
All that it still hath been!