On the green banks of Ebro's wave,
Where sluggards once were wont to lave,
The Shepherd starts to arms;
Transported hears the clarion sound,
Dashes his tabor on the ground,
And pants for war's alarms.
To Freedom's voice in every breeze
Eager he lists, and fondly sees,
With new, and glad surprise,
In every shadow, every beam,
In every slumber, every dream,
Her angel form arise:
In Ebro's glassy stream surveys,
Her towers ascend, her altars blaze,
Her flag triumphant spread;
While never-fading laurels bloom,
And Victory binds a splendid plume,
To grace the Patriot's head.
He sees the Invader's legions smote,
While Freedom's sacred banners float,
On Saragossa's walls;
And scenes are to his view revealed,
Which from the Goth's proud eye were sealed
In dark Toledo's halls.
Prophetic be the peasant's sight!
But ere with pure and steady light,
The rays of Freedom beam,
Full many a friend, and many a foe,
Pouring the tide of life, shall flow
Down Ebro's altered stream.
Yet Liberty, at length, shall deign
To hold her joy-inspiring reign,
Thy hills and vales among;
And Peace pervade thy groves and meads,
O Land of proud heroic deeds,
And high romantic song!