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