To the People of Spain
The Monthly Magazine, XL (October 1, 1815), p. 237
Ye sons of Spain, what Gorgon spirit roves
Amid your vine-clad hills, your orange groves?
What death-like torpor chills each manly form?
That once defied the flash and dar'd the storm;
What pois'nous breath chill'd freedom at its root,
Nips the fair flow'r, and blasts the promis'd fruit?
How long shall Tagus pour his golden flood,
Red with the sacred stain of patriot blood,
And mingle with a nation's timid tears,
Nor rouse its vengeance, nor disperse its fears?
The soil that now with trembling steps you tread,
Heroes have trod, when foes, when tyrants, fled.
On you they call, from their dishonor'd graves:
Awake! Arise! or be for ever slaves;
Awake, ye sons of Spain! your fathers call,
Arise to conquer, or, like them, to fall!