O’er Angostura’s plain,
And long the pitying sky has wept
Above its moldered slain.
The raven’s scream, or eagle’s flight,
Or shepherd’s pensive lay,
Alone now wake each solemn height
That frowned o’er that dread fray.
Sons of the dark and bloody ground,
Ye must not slumber there,
Where stranger steps and tongues resound